In some ways the pandemic thwarted my writing progress. Pre-pandemic, I had a steady routine and a solid plan. But low-level stress over the past several months has shaken my routine and caused me to abandon said plan. It’s also caused me to carry a full-size bottle of Lysol in my purse so I can disinfect shopping carts at the grocery store and chairs in the waiting room. Perhaps, this strikes you as overzelous, but this is for your benefit, not mine. Because, if there is anyone out there who is an asymptomatic carrier, I’m pretty sure it’s me.
I’m not very self-aware when it comes to my body. When my appendix ruptured years ago, I decided to go for a stroll so I could walk off what I assumed were stomach cramps. When that didn’t work, I tried drinking water (which cures everything, right?) until my husband made me go to the E.R. I was promptly rushed to the operating room for an emergency surgery. Suffice it to say, my mind-body connection is a little off so consider the Lysol spray a courtesy.
Between the clouds of disinfectant, I am still writing, just not what I hoped to be writing. Currently, my big project is on hold. With the ever-changing news I just can’t maintain the necessary level of engagement to move forward. It’s too hard to sustain focus and the nature of the project demands attention to detail. Anyone else feel this way right now?
However, my poetry collection is coming along nicely and guess what? A poem from the collection was published in the Eastern Iowa Review! The witty Chila Woychik edits the online journal which features lyric essays and poetic prose. So if you need somthing to take your mind off of Covid-19, check it out and don’t forget to read my recent poem about the weather.
Of course the AC would break during a heat wave smack dab in the middle of July. Don’t get me wrong, the vents still pushed air, just not cold air. Inside it grew increasingly warm. The temperature inched higher and higher until finally, around 2 a.m., it was officially cooler outside than it was inside. I spent the night tossing, turning, and roaming the house in the dark. Sleep-deprived and heat-sick, I was lucky enough to get a repairman to the house early in the morning, and (miracle of all miracles) before noon. (Thank you Robby from Air Necessities!)
Extremes, be it a pandemic or a heat wave, tend to bring out strong emotions. And aren’t we all just trying to keep cool these days. I hope you are being gentle with yourself and others as we weather extremes together. In the meantime, perhaps you will recognize a bit of yourself in my recent poem, Blame it on the Heat. Feel free to grab an ice beverage while you read and stay cool.
Blame it on the Heat
Triple digit, relentless all day into the night, sucks life with each bead of sweat. The harsh words that came next. The forecast says eighty percent humidity. Are you kidding me? and are they factoring in all the tears? Man, this heat that suffocates skin if skin could breathe. It dares you to strip off every unnecessary piece of cloth and rub it in the face of modesty. It’s. Just. Too. Hot. Kick off the blankets at night. Blame it on the heat, the brain fog, the decision fatigue. A complete unit failure. Call the repairman. For the blown fuse, the short fuse, the complaints, the energy leak from the air conditioner which worked fine, just fine, last week. Blame it all on the heat.
I would like to extend a huge thank you to the Petigru Review for selecting my poem, Gullah Geechee Queen, for their most recent issue. The poem is a part of a larger collection exploring life in the modern South.
Jane Bowers, Sue Cryer, and Amber Wheeler Bacon have created an elegant compilation of writing to be enjoyed at your leisure. The readers, designers, and photographers of the Petigru Review have curated a reading experience you don’t want to miss.
Is your budget tight? No worries. Amazingly, the online publication is FREE!
Check out my poem, Gullah Geechee Queen at: https://thepetigrureview.com/1104-2/
And make time to read the other pieces at: https://thepetigrureview.com/