author life
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For one week, you can still hold the beginning. A poem for the first-edition covers of What the Bruises Remember.
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I waited for my bookto become realwith flour on my shirtand sugar stuck to the counter. I waitedwhile marshmallows meltedinto something soft enoughto hold together,which felt a little too familiar. Twenty-one peanut butter cookies.Twenty-four banana muffins.Forty-eight chocolate chip cookies.A whole pan of Rice Krispie squarescooling beneath the kitchen light. Ninety-three little distractionsand a pan full…
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A release-night poem about baking, refreshing Amazon, smoke breaks, Goodreads, and all the ordinary little things that filled the hours before the book came home.
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A release-day poem about countdowns, time zones, refresh buttons, and watching a book cross oceans before it finally makes its way home.
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Some bruises fade from skin and settle into memory. This poem is about the book that gave mine somewhere to speak.
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Even witches get sick, and sometimes the most sacred ritual is tea, tissues, lowered candles, and permission to rest.
