I knew there would possibly be a day or two this April, in which it would be difficult to read a poem-a-day to honor National Poetry Month. So, when this occurred, I had to find a poem that I have carried for years, one so special that I almost didn’t have the heart to share it.
What her writing and her prolific journals, novels and poetic prose have meant to me I yearn one day to figure out. In the meantime, I read the forward to her masterpiece, House of Incest (which, in the first printing was self-published. How she, in 1932, was WAY ahead of her time!) If you have not read this, do so now:
Is there a book or a poem, or a passage from something that you carry through every move, through every transition? Do you love something in writing so much that you can’t find the words to describe how?