Sylvia Plath watches me get ready each morning. When I try to steal a glance at myself in the bedroom, Elizabeth Bishop stares back. Guests are welcomed in the hallway by Frank O’Hara.
Of course, these poets don’t actually live in my house. It’s their work that does. Print. Snip. Tape. I read and re-read the words pasted on my mirrors through each daily routine as instinctively as I pour coffee and call my mama.
Sounds pretentious, doesn’t it? Funnily enough, these crumpled pieces of paper serve as reminders of bold authenticity, not markers of pride. Each scrap of paper is a reminder that there’s always more to understand and appreciate if I take the time to really look. I try to make that philosophy of quiet observation and appreciation of different perspectives color much more than just my writing.
You can find me chatting to anyone at Sam’s Club over the age of 65, hunting for mid century clothing at yard sales, or reorganizing my mirrors to make room for more paper.
Let's have a chat:
913 638 6736