Actually, it’s been a year since I started posting Thursday mornings on Under Construction, with occasional off-cycle posts.
Thank you readers – whether you’re a subscriber, follower, fan, or however you’ve arrived.
Thank you to those who know me, those who know my work, those who have been introduced to Under Construction by someone who knows me or my work. Thank you to those of you who … well, I’m not sure how you’ve found your way here, but I’m glad you did.
Under Construction is where the door is always open, where we don’t blame the dogs and we don’t answer all calls, where all the doors have automatic openers, and where iguanas are not invasive. It is where we, too, dream of peace. It is for all the poets and all the mourners, and it is where adverbs and nouns are shapeshifters. (If you read all the way to the bottom of the posts, right above the Subscribe button you’ll see what I mean.)
It’s where poems echo through the years and through the poets – looking at you X. P. Callahan, Deborah Kelly, Josh Datko. Erasures, with links to the source material, are here: Call and Response: owl; we lived and we ate; and war and peace.
Where I cannot stop writing about residents dying in nursing homes, because residents are always dying in nursing homes. Where birds are poets, bees stir the mirror, and you – readers – are the one thing that matters.