I haven’t felt like blogging a great deal the last few days. Perhaps it was the post-packet sigh of relief, in which I just didn’t do much of anything for about two days. Perhaps it was the stunning pain of UNC’s loss in the Final Four or the Carolina Hurricanes missing the playoffs by a nose. Some of it may be general sloth, to which I am prone.

But I’ve not been completely dead and gone– in the past couple days, I have read over manuscripts, some for Bull City Press and some for friends who honor me by caring about my opinion at all (and who didn’t even know that, as I work on my own manuscript, this was a tremendous exercise and help). I’ve worked on the next issue of Inch, which has seemed, at times, cursed and is now two weeks late. I read all nine books of the terrific series Preacher (I’d read it before, but I needed it). I taught a poetry class at UNC, a bright and very talented group (usually when you sub for someone, you hear in advance how great the students are and then when you arrive, they’re just like everyone else, but this class actually seemed well above average). I went to the opening of The Illustrated Word at Flanders 311 in downtown Raleigh, where I’ll have a reading this Friday at 7 PM in conjunction with the exhibit. And I’ve spent a lot of social time with poets and friends and worst of all, poet-friends– the most dangerous kind of friend known to man.

See? Not all wasted. I’ve tried, since finishing this first draft of my manuscript and loosing it into the world (well, to three people), to not think about manuscript. Which has meant that I haven’t really thought about my own work during that time. And that’s been nice. But the vacation is over.

Rather than issue any apologies of my own for my selfish disregard for myself, I offer what should be the last Olena Kalytiak Davis poem that I post in this blog, lest Ms. Davis start thinking that I am hoping to cannibalize her book sales:

Six Apologies, Lord

 

I Have Loved My Horrible Self, Lord.
I Rose, Lord, And I Rose, Lord, And I,
Dropt. Your Requirements, Lord. ‘Spite Your Requirements, Lord,
I Have Loved The Low Voltage Of The Moon, Lord,
Until There Was No Moon Intensity Left, Lord, No Moon Intensity Left
For You, Lord. I Have Loved The Frivolous, The Fleeting, The Frightful
Clouds. Lord, I Have Loved Clouds! Do Not Forgive Me, Do Not
Forgive Me LordandLover, HarborandMaster, GuardianandBread, Do Not.
Hold Me, Lord, O, Hold Me

Accountable, Lord. I Am
Accountable. Lord.

Lord It Over Me,
Lord It Over Me, Lord. Feed Me

Hope, Lord. Feed Me
Hope, Lord, Or Break My Teeth.

Break My Teeth, Sir,

In This My Mouth.