Once I was a younger woman who worked on accreditation documents, which led me to write a variety of poems that would be collected in my chapbook, I Stand Here Shredding Documents.
This week, an idea from "Penelope in the Office Cubicle" kept circling my brain, as we put language in to our documents and then were told to take the language out. Not for the first time did I think of Penelope, weaving and unweaving and reweaving.
But this month, I am an older woman working on accreditation documents; it is not my first time dealing with these tasks. I write carefully, making sure not to fall in love with any chunk of text.
I'm thinking of all the journals that will be closing down their submissions this month or next. Have I submitted to the ones that are most important to me? This morning, I prepared a submission to Tampa Review--are there others?
I also wrote a poem. I've been haunted by this Adrienne Rich poem, "What Kind of Times Are These," with its vision of a revolutionary road "near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted / who disappeared into those shadows."
Last night as I watched the ABC shows that had Thanksgiving themes, I realized that we've moved from election commercials to Christmas commercials. I feel like a whole season has slid away from me.
This week-end, I will decorate for Christmas, even though it's a bit early. I want to be able to wring all the joy out of this season. I don't want to wake up 6 weeks from now wondering where the time went.
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