2018 August
I was in a poetry workshop where a talented poet wrote, “I had to burn my brother’s body in order to stay alive during the night.”
I responded, “Oh, how sweet; the brother sacrifices himself in order to keep the sister alive.”
My neighbor said, “No, that’s not it. She’s empowered. She killed her brother in order to take care of herself.”
The instructor said, “You can shorten this to ‘I burned my brother and lived off the warmth.’”
The writer said, “I have no brother. Everything in this poem is a lie.”
When I tell non-artists that I am a professional poet, this is the gist of the conversation that typically follows: “Really?” “Yes.” “You’re kidding.” “No.” “You can make a living doing that?” “Yes.” (long pause) “Huh.” They mostly can’t think of much to say after that. I suspect they think…