In a roomful of sunlight and its early spring heat, voices created remarkable takes on the world, both individual and collective. To be able to mix up the energies of six women and one man, all poets, exploring peaches, forgotten journeys, suffocating happiness, concision, spider chirp, silent violence, and the musk of dog feet, and come out more focused—with more clarity—feels quite magical. Once you hear a word or phrase, you can—if only open and supple—do nothing but ingest/digest. At some point in a life, at some stage of evolution, at some degree of revolution, at some nexus of emotion, you shit it all out, or turn it into nutrients, bone loss transformed into vision. Allostasis. I am using all of this to repair my right hip, or is it my left knee? No matter. I am using it.
That was Colrain, Leicester, Massachusetts, March 23, 2019, thanks to Joan Houlihan and Fred Marchant and the 7.
Details: From one of us.
