A friend let me borrow a wonderful picture of her from eastern Europe. It has in it qualities which I struggled for months to find the write words to accompany it. Magic, innocence, a sense of foreboding, even. They are all in it. She looks at once trapped, but dreaming of a future in which the young man...a wooden gnome of sorts, next to her...seems happy to help her dream.
Something real, something obscure, something small, but the stuff of poetry, of being alive, of pulling forward into today vague myths of yesterday.
Read it on my poetry page. I hope you enjoy it!