I’ve been mailing and passing out a holiday poem card at the close of every year for the past decade or so.
The first was a haiku in silver on a kitchen-made clay snowflake punched and strung with a ribbon to hang on the tree. The ones that followed incorporated original photography and then later graphic design.
The last couple of poems were pretty dark, although that is where poignancy often hides. Regardless, I promised John Bromberg at the recent Judy Youshock memorial at AfA, that this year’s piece would be brighter.
Unfortunately, anything I might have made then has been overshadowed by recent shattering events.
Oh, she’s so dramatic.
I tried to write about what happened and then I went back and deleted it.
Maybe the words are better left unread. Or maybe it’s just too soon. Until I work the toxins out of my system, I might not be able to write anything else.
If you don’t get a Christmas card this year, it’s not you – it’s me. Still trying to figure out how to be.