zirconium

A few weeks ago, I tossed a couple of sandwiches and a half-eaten cucumber into a bag that I took with me on a work trip to Atlanta (the photos in this entry are from the visit to the High Museum). I ate the sandwiches and part of the cucumber. The bag still isn't fully unpacked, but I fished out what remained of the cucumber early last week. Thank goodness for solid ziploc seals.

It took me most of another week to drag the compost pot to the yard, which encapsulates it being cold, me being sick, and things being hectic. (I added "club soda" to my mental shopping list earlier tonight, and just a few minutes ago noticed the two-liter bottle of club soda I'd brought home last night and completely forgotten about. And -- as if in reproach -- it promptly fizzed all over half the kitchen when I opened it. Some days the comedy is everywhere.)

Anyway, some things are getting done, and some new poems are online -- "Lost Wax" over at http://varytheline.org and a sestina over at the CDC Poetry Project.

Last month Sidekick Books published an Advent calendar of window poems; mine was on Day 2: http://sidekickbooks.com/booklab/2017/12/sidekick-aperture-poetry-advent-calendar-day-2-peg-duthie.html/.

Today's subject line comes from Maxine Silverman's Shiva Moon (published by Ben Yehuda Press, which is bringing out my friend Rachel's Texts to the Holy next month), in a poem titled "A Small Craft Advisory," which I bookmarked earlier this month even though at this point there's nothing subconscious about references to 1930s Germany and 1940s treatment of Japanese Americans bleeding into and all over my drafts and correspondence. Silverman:

Years back if the S.S. crashed a poem
at once I'd rub them out. . . .

Nazis aren't subconscious anything.
Generations after Auschwitz, they still have their way
with us, show up when you least expect. That is the poem.
The rest -- commentary.