a call to burn it to the ground

on failing/growing/ditching the internet to some degree/getting medicated/building lasting community

Stick season. Goose-call season. First frost season. Bare feet, cold earth season. Presence season. A quieting, sharpening season. A season for what is. A season to turn what doesn’t serve into kindling. A season for warming by the flames.

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Still life: November writing practice, 4:30am

Hello fellow poet,

It is November and life in my small world looks very different than it did in October. I am embodying autumn to the nth degree: taking inventory, releasing what isn’t needed or isn’t working, being present with what is, gathering that which fortifies, investing in long-lasting community, consciously seeking gratitude, being discerning and proactive about change where it’s needed. Below, a few relevant highlights:

• I have gotten my first in-person job since March of 2020 - a caregiver position at a local Waldorf-inspired school.

• I’ve started an affinity group for mother-poets.

• This here newsletter is going to take a wee snooze to rest up for the new year.

Since the onset of the pandemic (here in the States), I have been giving my best go to both entrepreneurship and motherhood. Two things that are in and of themselves more than full-time jobs. Both of which are brand new for me. While the internet is full of tales of people striking it rich, of monetizing their writing and workshops, of building a vast community, mine is not one of those tales.

That is not to say I haven’t succeeded. I have grown, birthed and raised what is now a (mostly) healthy human toddler (see also: alien/demon/angel/”unicorn”). The hormonal shifts that are a byproduct of this experience have rocked my world. These internal fluctuations, paired with a serious lack of local connection, have left me adrift, feeling worthless in every arena from motherhood to partnership to entrepreneurship.

I’ve dug my feet in for roughly 18 months, wanting to give most of the spare energy I have to building a sustainable business online. I have done so to both my family’s and my own detriment. I have isolated myself. I have become tunnel visioned (not great for this neurodivergent brain of mine). I have stopped investing in things that are imperative for my health and vitality - namely movement and time outdoors.

This new job and the community that comes with it feel like a particular sort of god-send. In addition to offering care and support to the children of this school, I’ve also been asked to design poetry workshops for the parents that will be held ***in person*** at the farm where the school resides. Hosting an in-person workshop is a dream I’ve held close since moving to Maine, and while it is not taking place in our barn as I had initially envisioned, I am thrilled that it is happening in a setting similar to, if not more beautiful than, what I pictured.

On the note of our barn, I don’t know that I’ve shared much about it. Or our house in general. Have I mentioned we bought a house from 1763? There’s a great backstory here, but I shall save that for another time. We currently live in a small portion of the house while we slowly tend to the areas that aren’t inhabitable. I have big dreams of restoring this entire property, of doing right by the land upon which it sits. There is so much I want to say on this topic, so many questions I’m dancing with - could we get a grant to help us save the barn? Should we start a flower farm? How can I satiate this sensation of atonement that runs throughout this land? How can we best serve this house and the earth around it? - yet I don’t always feel like The Poetry Journals is the place for these aspects of my life. I hope that by taking a few weeks to sit and settle and think and rest and write, I can breathe a bit of new life back into this space and what it offers.

I find myself in a season of pause, of assessing. A season which invites me to loosen my own imposed, convoluted restraints. To lean back into my writing practice. To remember the comfort I find in the weight of the pen, as well as to allow the ink to flow more freely, with no thought as to where or when or how that writing might be shared with the world.

I also need more space to explore and express what I’m learning within the postpartum realm - how the endocrine system goes through massive change post pregnancy. How these hormonal shifts transform us into new beings. How there is little support for mothers undergoing this integral phase of transformation. How I now see the ways in which these shifts have impacted not only me, but my family and my business. How I might support other mothers through such shifts. (Enter tending the depths, which you can read more about below).

Life feels hopeful as I spend more time sharing a table with other humans, more time in nature, less time in front of a screen.

On this note: The Poetry Journals is taking a pause until the new year, so that I may soften into life-in-person. Those who are kind enough to support my writing monetarily, have no fear - payments are paused. I plan to pop in a time or two to tell you about my upcoming, poetry-based offerings (some of which are listed below). I may also pop into your inbox when I find a poem that moves me so thoroughly I just have to share it with someone. Otherwise, during this interim, I’ll be attempting to engage my family in the rhythms of Waldorf and of nature, reading fiction for fun, creating new tea blends, figuring out what the hell I’m going to make everyone for Christmas, watching the sun come up and go down without feeling like I need to tell you or anyone else about it.

I’d like to leave you with the poem and prompt that sparked the fragment at the beginning of this letter.

Wishing you softness where you need it, ample time away from screens, and connection of the deepest, most sustaining variety.

Yours in poetry,

Kat

The poet and her beloved chamomile, Nov. 2023

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upcoming ways to gather and connect

The offerings below are all rooted in the bedrock of my work: connection. I do not strive for followers or subscribers, but I do want to become better acquainted with kindred spirits, to know you and for you to know me. I want to gather together at the messy kitchen table, connect over poems, discuss what’s happening in the garden and the things that sustain us individually & collectively.

If this sort of connection is of interest to you, too, you might consider the offerings below.

Tending the depths - an affinity group I’ve started for mother-poets, where we gather monthly for generative writing circles & matrescence exploration. Whether you are a poet in hiding or a poet out in the world, you are welcome here. Our first gathering will be simple, free-flowing, free of charge and will take place this Wednesday Nov. 15th from 3-4pm EST. Bring your notebook and a poem you love. I’d love to meet you and write with you!

Poetry as Consolation - an hour for any and all poets to gather with Poetry Forge, Kim Flyr and myself to write and discuss the art of self-publication. Donation based. A replay will be shared with all participants.