It's so weird to return from really immersing poetry festivals, feeling really changed and noticing that the state of the world is too. I was only gone for a few days, right?
I'm catching up. My city got hit with tornadoes but I didn't know it in real time. I was getting these mysterious text messages from my friends telling me they were okay, and I was in such a joyful, happy, sleep deprived state of mind that I was just like, "Awesome, my friends want me to know they're doing great!" Is it the poetry I go for, or the all encompassing emotions that float one through the days spent in the company of poets?
I was at the Women of the World Poetry Slam festival in Detroit. I woke up each morning overlooking Canada from my hotel room window. The Detroit River flowed behind the hotel, mostly moving huge chunks of ice in a southerly direction. It was remarkably beautiful to watch. You don't see that in the south. Ever.
Andrea Gibson, one of my poetry heroes, won the competition, all the marbles, bounced around on stage at the end of the finals show, was the kind of champion that makes a poet proud.
I'll get my feet back on the ground soon enough, get some laundry done, get some non-poetry related ideas running through my head. Mostly, and I think like most people, I feel like I live a couple of different lives. Today they're overlapping, and it's a strange place to navigate.