It’s difficult to describe the intersection between inspiration and hopelessness. This itself is reason enough to try.
Being a nine-month-old-parent, it feels as if I’m working with many-many little-little moments these days; rich & overflowing, more than I can find time to record in a way that I’d like to, all overshadowed by daily news of genocide and war, not to mention the stripping away of human rights in this country and elsewhere.
The space between total paralysis and pure escapism is as much work as it is a gift.
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“Tankas”—5-line poems that follow a 5-7-5-7-7 syallbic pattern—have lent themselves well to my punctuated urges to both start and complete something among the little-littles. Posting a few that came to me over the last few weeks.
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