Wednesday, June 17, 2026

Poetry

What an awful time to be writing. Elena is out frantically searching for a specific type of glue for her project, the car isn't packed yet for the trip, I played with my phone instead of grading papers the morning, and the boy is about to be up. Off into the forest tomorrow. The rivers. I'm guided by rivers.

I want to write poetry; for me, not you.

I feel like I might have something to say.

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