San Pedro River Review

I have a new poem in the spring issue of San Pedro River Review.  One that I almost did not submit.  Seems my poetic apathy is reaching epidemic status.  I submitted the poem because my dear friend Ann Howells hit me over the head with a 2 X 4, following a DPC workshop.  On a wild hair I took her advice and submitted it within 24 hours of the metaphoric slap over the head.  And I am glad.  I love when I get to see poetry in print,  somehow it makes me feel like a real poet.  I feel very lucky to be included with so many wonderful poets.  The poem like most of my work of late is a bit dark.  I read Friday night at open mic--and I realized all three of the poems I read where about death and dying.  I have made myself a promise to bring some of my lighter work next month.  To avoid being such a poetic downer.  I am writing a bit (so far three this month 2-poems--one on dying and one about cadavers)--I am noticing a disturbing trend.  I joined a 30 in the hopes of writing a poem every 3rd day, with perhaps making 10 by the end of the month.  I am cautiously optimistic that I might make 10.  My husband and I are redoing my office--creating a place for my poetry and photography.  We are hung up on finding the perfect desk.  One that fits our odd space, my need for balance, his need for order, and perhaps one with a bit of feng shui--a place to channel a bit of positive energy.   I want the room to still serve as an guest room if needed, though I am beginning to think I should get rid of the bed and perhaps think sofa-bed or Murphy bed---and rethink the entire design, except--I have covered the bed in a hand crochet lace-spread that my grandmother (mothers-mother)  made Momma when she married my father more than 50 years ago, and beneath that I have placed the hand sewn quilt that my grandmother (fathers-mother) made me when I married (25 years ago).  I smile every time I glance at the bed--and I remember. Warm memories.  So perhaps it is not just  finding the right desk is the problem.  Michael said he would build me a desk--custom to my whim.  He should be worried, but he's not.