My imperfect offering this morning, held up in thanks to another lost voice.
It was written several years back as a kind of meditation inspired by Cohen’s “Anthem.”
Ring the bells. Let the light in.

My imperfect offering this morning, held up in thanks to another lost voice.
It was written several years back as a kind of meditation inspired by Cohen’s “Anthem.”
Ring the bells. Let the light in.

I am a writer who often thinks of a phrase, a word, or an image, and I immediately put it on the list of, “That’s a good title for a poem, essay, song, photo collection.” I know what to call it before I write it, before I know what it is. I write poems to titles more often than not; sometimes it changes, but the title was there to start. And when I do write the poem first, it can take forever to come up with the right title. Just how I think.
(Potentially connected: My oldest girl had no name for 2 days. The second actually left the hospital and was a whole 4 days old before her name was chosen.)
I have some exciting things coming up this year, and as I wrote recently, I’ve had some particularly pernicious trouble thinking of the right title one of them. Poor nameless project, the really big one, the very personal, long-time-in-the-making project.
Well. After some accidental eavesdropping, reading other’s work, and the customarily startling flash of connected neurons, I’m pleased to say my troubles are finally over. I found it.