Weekly Round-Up March 24

Photo by valentin hintikka on Unsplash

Well, I have no excuse, but I simply completely forgot about my newsletter last weekend and this week until Thursday. I blame lingering COVID brain fog and my greatly depleted stamina, paired with returning from Spring Break and that scramble of midterm grading. I’m sorry!

To be honest, I do not have much to say right now. I’m stuck in my typical Spring depression when the weather shifts and it starts to feel a touch warmer, the first flowers pop out of the soil, and the trees grow buds, and then it snows and rains and my chronic pain flares up and I start to stress about summer and having no income for a few months. (Speaking of which, you can become a paid subscriber and help out with that stress if you like!)

I love each season in its own way, which is why I choose to live in a climate with four distinct seasons (or five if you count mud season, which it is now), but by the end of the season, I’m very ready for the next one. I miss green things, and I long to see blue skies again, and to shed my winter jacket.

Photo by TOMOKO UJI on Unsplash

Next month, April, is National Poetry month, which I both love and dread. There’s so much pressure on poets to Do Something during this month, but also I love it, because it’s a rare moment when the whole country pretends to care about poetry.

Anthropocene Pastoral
by Catherine Pierce

In the beginning, the ending was beautiful.
Early spring everywhere, the trees furred
pink and white, lawns the sharp green
that meant new. The sky so blue it looked
manufactured. Robins. We’d heard
the cherry blossoms wouldn't blossom
this year, but what was one epic blooming
when even the desert was an explosion
of verbena? When bobcats slinked through
primroses. When coyotes slept deep in orange
poppies. One New Year’s Day we woke
to daffodils, wisteria, onion grass wafting
through the open windows. Near the end,
we were eyeletted. We were cottoned.
We were sundressed and barefoot. At least
it’s starting gentle, we said. An absurd comfort,
we knew, a placebo. But we were built like that.
Built to say at least. Built to reach for the heat
of skin on skin even when we were already hot,
built to love the purpling desert in the twilight,
built to marvel over the pink bursting dogwoods,
to hold tight to every pleasure even as we
rocked together toward the graying, even as
we held each other, warmth to warmth,
and said sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry while petals
sifted softly to the ground all around us.

Copyright © 2020 by Catherine Pierce. From Danger Days (Saturnalia, 2020). Used with the permission of the poet.

It’s hard to have hope most days, to be honest. The Iowa governor signed into law a ban on minors receiving gender affirming care, and a ban on trans people using bathrooms in public schools that match their gender identity. They didn’t just say schools don’t have to allow it, they said schools are forbidden from allowing children and adults access to the bathroom that matches their gender identity. And they’re relying on vigilante justice to enforce the rule, which is just what every trans child needs, some self-righteous bigot surveilling their bathroom usage, as if just being a kid isn’t tough enough. Sigh. I hate it here, in this, the darkest timeline. I wish I had Evelyn’s ability to travel to a different multiverse where I’m not living the worst version of my life, like in the film.

Currently, I’m wrapping up the poetry unit in my Intro to Lit class, and I’ve enjoyed encountering poems I love with my students who are reading them for the first time. I don’t know if any of them are really poetry lovers yet, but I love being able to teach poetry. It’s definitely my calling—to read, write, and teach poetry—so it’s nice when I have an all-too-rare chance to do so.

Ted Lasso is back for a third season, and I’m feeling conflicted about the show’s direction this season (and the tail end of last). No spoilers, but one character’s actions seem very out of character for me, and it’s made me sad. That used to be a wholesome comfort show for me in the first season, but now it’s just making me depressed. Maybe that’s just because I am depressed, though. It’s hard to feel any other way when one is struggling with depression. Still, I cling to art in times like this, so it’s hard when it lets me down.

What are you reading/watching/thinking/doing these days?