Weekend revelations

Stepping outside of my mind for a couple of days did me some good.

A hotel room – that’s not an adequate description. The worst hotel room I’ve ever had the priviledge of staying in – primer over seafoam green paint on the walls, baseboards coming loose from their moorings, every soap dish in the bathroom broken off, and no telephone. The fridge wouldn’t keep the ice cream cold — until I wiggled the plug and the compressor started to hum again.

And in the other room, 7 writers crammed in together in the heat, the door closed to muffle the sound of the highway traffic so we could hear each other read our musings. As much giggling (not at the poetry, at each other) and time wasting as writing.

It was a good time, Convergence 2005.

Eventually I might have some of my missives up here. Don’t worry, I didn’t step outside of my head too much – they’re all about Duncan and Kevin and food. But it did offer me the opportunity to think and write more creatively. It’s easy to get stuck in the dry wasteland of press releases – who, what, when, where, why you should care. Harder to become unglued and explore with words again.

In the mean time, here’s a poem one of my convergence colleagues sent me that I’d sent him some time ago to post on poetryproject.org that he’d just discovered in an unchecked e-mail account. ooohh, it’s today’s Poem of the Day.

Thursday, October 23, 2003
12:04 PM

Sitting in a meeting

I could sit here and pretend to take notes.
It’s not that I don’t have anything to say
or that I’m not thinking the thoughts other people
are voicing.
But my mouth doesn’t want to form the words just yet.
It’s like sitting at a bar, accepting a drink
from a guy named Chuck.
Listening to the story of why his wife left after an affair
with the preacher
and the dog ran away.
The thoughts are there, the things to say.
But undecided if I really want
to get involved.
He doesn’t know me
Doesn’t know those thoughts and hasn’t seen
my flashes of genius.
I might selfishly keep them to myself.