This has to be the coolest list of poets that has ever included my name…

Thanks for using my “Why I Write Poetry” blog post as an exemplar, Ruben Quesada!

Incidentally, if you are a latin@ poet, you should submit a video and written essay to Ruben’s “Why I Write” project.

I have an ocean-view room at the Serra Retreat Center in Malibu, where I’ve spent the last day and a half working on poems and enjoying the ocean breeze. Sometimes real life is peaceful and full of poetry. More often it’s full of poop and toddler tantrums, but those are mixed in with toddler humor and snuggling. I’m thankful that I get to experience all of it.

I’m working on finishing up the first draft of a new poetry manuscript, tentatively titled All That Remains. When my colleagues at this faculty retreat ask what I’m working on over shared meals in the dining hall, I like to tell them that I’m rewriting the Bible. I wish I’d been raising my camera immediately to snap photos of the facial expressions I’ve gotten in response: most people smile or laugh, and everyone’s eyebrows rise up to full staff.

The longer explanation is that I started this poetry project because I needed an assignment. In 2012, with a new baby and a new full-time job, having just finished my dissertation, I thought that I’d better give myself a structured writing project that would keep me writing even when the world was against my actually writing anything. I was feeling particularly angry at the time toward people who take Bible verses out of context and use them as weapons against anyone who disagrees with them. I thought, “I can take biblical language out of context too!” and set out to satirize this practice. What started as angry satire quickly became playful and interesting:  anagrams for titles, word-bank-style found poetry. I’m enjoying the process and feel excited about the results so far.

As of this afternoon, I’m 12 poems away from finishing a complete draft of this manuscript! Now back to work…

I try to keep this website focused on poetry, which means that I don’t post all of my cute baby videos or share the details of my son’s potty training here… unless those things appear in a poem. Then they’re fair game. For poets, the line between what is personal and what is professional is never very clear.

On December 23, my Granny, Wanda Faye Henson, passed away. She was my stay-at-home parent, my childhood playmate, and my current friend—the person I most often talked to on the phone. I couldn’t possibly have loved her any more than I do. Sometimes I feel relieved that she’s at peace. Sometimes I can’t breathe. It’s not professional to grieve in public.

Granny is one of the reasons I’m a poet. She helped me write down the first poem I created at age 4 (see Why I Write Poetry). She spent countless hours reading me nursery rhymes and stories. And Granny haunts my poems. Sometimes she’s explicitly named or described, but often she’s in the background—a swirl of cigarette smoke, a silent observer.

I had the privilege of reading a poem at her funeral. I chose “Chocolate Gravy,” which was one of the poems that I wrote in my first college poetry class. By the standards of current poetry, it’s too simple, too obvious, too rhymed, too sweet. I probably couldn’t write it today. But I’m glad that my 20-year-old self wrote it so that I could read it a decade later and share it with family and friends when we needed something melodic, soothing, and joyful in its celebration of Granny.

Chocolate Gravy

She dawns before the morning
In a pale pink gown,
In the kitchen starts performing,
Taking pots and pans down.

I wake to the clanking and the clatter
Of the dishes as she swishes
Round the kitchen to the patter
Of her slipper-tile kisses.

She’s a fairy in disguise,
Stirring nectar with her wand,
Measuring only with her eyes,
Magic passed down from her mom.

She butters all the biscuits;
Always serving, always making
Homemade heaven for her family,
Like this favorite: chocolate gravy.

I feel the thick, smooth liquid flow
Over my tongue, bathed with bliss,
Remembering what I already know:
If love has a taste, it is this.