Thank you for joining me
in this practice. It’s not easy
to write a poem every day.
In fact, it is not easy to write a poem at all.
As one of my heroes, A.R. Ammons once said,
why would anyone sit alone in a room
picking away at their own liver?
It’s not always easy to read poems, either.
But you do. Thank you.
Part of me would like to tell you
that I write every day because I can’t help it,
because I am driven to do it.
That sounds romantic and chosen.
The reality is much more practical.
It would be so easy to stop writing.
The reason I write every day
is so that I keep writing.
And the reason to write at all
is that it invites me to unlearn
whatever I think I know, to be curious
and look for connections
and remember to be more present.
And, though it sounds dramatic,
poetry has saved my life.
When I sit down to write a poem,
I make myself four promises.
One: I will write. Two:
I will write something true
(that does not mean factual).
Three: I will not know the ending
before I begin. Four:
I will send it to you.
Why do I send it to you?
Accountability. And because
at some point you invited me to.
And because when I share a poem with you,
I feel as if we enter together
into this big conversation
that has been going on between poets
and readers across continents and centuries
and cultures and languages, an ongoing
conversation about what it means to be alive.
Though we may not know each other,
I trust that we, like all humans,
are more alike than different,
and I believe that you, like me,
both long for and rail against connection.
As if we had a choice. As if we aren’t
already deeply connected
in ways that poetry suggests and physics
proves.
Though I write every day, I would never
consider what I’m doing an exercise,
though perhaps it’s making me stronger.
It’s a practice that I know I will never get right.
I am always too much in the way,
but that doesn’t stop me from trying again
the next day.
If I lived alone on an island with no computer,
no paper, no pen, I’d like to think I would still
be composing poems, perhaps in sand, perhaps
just in my head. I love the art of it, the way words
can sing when strung together just so.
But it wouldn’t be as much fun as sharing them,
which is why I am writing to thank you.
Sincerely,
r
