As I wedge in time to write poems in the morning before commuting to work, or the small break between my jobs, I find the “poem-a-day” a lot more challenging this time around. I see poems in the mystery books I file away on dusty shelves, in the brightly colored calaveras (skulls) my students are making for Dia de Los Muertos. As the seasons distinctly change, I feel it too. Sometimes this means more time in bed. Which hopefully means, more writing in bed, and not hibernation.
I’ve been flipping through Jeffrey Yang’s An Aquarium, which I hope will spark some aswang stuff. I’ve also been reading through Letters to Poets (ed. Jennifer Firestone and Dana Teen Lomax), which is a really great anthology with the actual emails/letters between veteran and emerging poets. It’s been helpful in thinking about The Blood-Jet, too.