Three Good Things

want less, by drew myron

Hello Reader,

Thanks for showing up — and for reading, writing, and keeping on.

Some weeks shine, your energy bright and your hopes high. Others are rough and tumble, and you escape the shaker feeling tattered and small.

Let’s meet in the middle.

Here are a few things I’ve enjoyed lately, and think you might, too:

1.
No Answers

Last night I cried myself to sleep

again; I surrendered to the impossible

helplessness of having no good answers

for the problems of the world. No, not the world—

but not even my own. I don't know what the wind

is threading through the reeds, or what the river

might be thinking about territory. Across the stump

of an old oak hewn down five years ago, a screen

mixed of holly and ivy has begun to emerge.

Nothing is intimate or everything is intimate

and we are all climbing a trellis thin as spider

silk, more opaque than ordinary light. 

— Luisa A. Igloria

2.
That Good Night: Life and Medicine in the Eleventh Hour by Sunita Puri

This may be the best book of 2023!

Yes, I said the same thing earlier this year but, really, this is another best book. Because our health care system is broken and our actions toward life and death so warped, I want to give this book to everyone I know.

Published in 2019, this literary memoir explores a doctor’s practice of palliative medicine. Blending science with spirituality, Dr. Puri offers a thoughtful and compassionate perspective that helps patients and families redefine what it means to live and die in the face of serious illness.

This book stands strong among my other health-related favorites:

The People’s Hospital: Hope and Peril in American Medicine by Ricardo Nuila

Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End by Atul Gwande

God’s Hotel: A Doctor, A Hospital, and a Pilgrimage to the Heart of Medicine by Victoria Sweet

Knocking on Heaven’s Door: The Path to a Better Way to Death by Katy Butler

My Own Country: A Doctor’s Story by Abraham Verghese

Note: Yes, I keep pushing the value of these medically-themed books — not because I am a Sad Sally or a Gruesome Gus but because I continue to feel frustrated with our traditional medical system, with public perception toward end-of-life, and because of my personal conviction that living fully means to meet the end with awareness, honesty, and grace.

3.
The Billion Dollar Code, a four-part movie series that tells the story of two young German developers — an artist and a programmer nerd — who team up to create a groundbreaking way to see the world, and later sue Google for stealing their work.

Based on true events, this good-versus-evil story is both illuminating and heartbreaking, and will likely cause you to question Google’s “don’t be evil” practices.

You might also wonder, as I do, why this spectacular 2021 movie received little to no attention or promotion.

Currently showing on Netflix.

On Sunday: Alter Me

To Thrive, photo by Drew Myron

1.

Is this what

it means

to thrive —

when the eyes

are weary and

the heart heaves

when the light is

just right —

an ordinary green

against a concrete

end shines

with life?

2.

Study the sky, the slant of light.

Weigh the world, the words, the low laugh, the long sigh.

Look for signs of life. Measure, measure, proof.

Always the reach between said and unsaid, I am grasping for lasts.

3.

Words wander from me, looking for better, more receptive, homes.
I wear these ones instead:

I do not want us to be immortal or unlucky.
To listen for our own death in the distance.
Take my hand. Stand by the window.

I want to show you what is hidden in
this ordinary . . .

 — excerpt from Once, a poem by Eavan Boland

4.

This morning the blueberry bush is a glow of holy auburn.

It’s just light, I know, that aching autumn trick of

time that turns me inward, turns me in.

5.

In this season of letting go I can’t determine

despite prodding, pushing, pulling, willing, waiting:

Is this life or death, and what’s the difference?

6.

Walk toward the light.

Isn’t that a faithful saying, or at least a poem

(and again, what’s the difference)?

By miracle or chance I found this poem today.

And now I have a plan, a path:

The Light Continues

Every evening, an hour before 
the sun goes down, I walk toward
its light, wanting to be altered.
Always in quiet, the air still.
Walking up the straight empty road
and then back. When the sun
is gone, the light continues
high up in the sky for a while.
When I return, the moon is there. 
Like a changing of the guard.
I don’t expect the light 
to save me, but I do believe
in the ritual. I believe
I am being born a second time
in this very plain way.

— Linda Gregg

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Good Books Lately

The world is full of books. The days are full of hours. There is never enough time to enjoy all the words but we read what we can, when we can.

Here are a few good books I’ve savored lately:

ESSAYS

Wandering Time: Western Notebooks by Luis Alberto Urrea

I considered it my duty to see what was going on. I wasn't after Art, really. I was generally praying. Every page of my notebook tried to say, Thank you . . . It seems to me that a good writer must excel at two things: poking around and paying attention.

This intimate journal — by an award-winning writer of novels, nonfiction, poetry and plays — is a poetic accounting of a yearlong roadtrip through the West: Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, New Mexico, and Arizona. Slow and watchful, this gem of a book pays close attention and invites introspection. As the writer peers inward, the reader does, too. I quickly raced through this slim beauty, then started again, savoring more slowly what I had already loved.

ESSAYS

My Trade Is Mystery: Seven Meditations from a Life in Writing by Carl Phillips

To make art is also, like handwriting, a form of insistence. A form, too, of resistance. To write is to resist invisibility. By having spoken, I’ve resisted silence before again returning to it.

Carl Phillips is the author of 16 books of poetry and was awarded the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. Published in 2022, this collection of essays covers themes on the writing life: ambition, stamina, silence, politics, practice, audience, and community. At just 94 pages, it’s a slim book that is dense with ideas. Phillips is a thinker and he calls upon a rich variety of writers to convey a poetic perspective that is deep, wide, and accessible.

FICTION

We Came Here to Forget by Andrea Dunlop

The thing about tragedy is that it isn't about just getting through it, it's about getting on with your life when the dust has settled but the landscape is bombed out, smoke in the air, charred remains at your feet.

Published in 2019, this contemporary novel is an unusual mix of literary fiction and mysterious understory. Here’s my advice: Dive in. Don’t read the inside flap or the backside blurbs. The less you know, the sweeter the surprise. A great unexpected novel!

NON-FICTION

The Art Thief: A True Story of Passion, Obsession, and a Monumental Crime Spree by Michael Finkel

When you wear your heart on your sleeve, it's exposed to the elements.

An astounding true story that reads like fiction. Researched with great detail and written with smooth clarity, this is the compelling tale of a young man who completed over 200 heists — stealing $2 billion dollars worth of artwork— in less than 10 years.

Your Turn: What are you reading?
I’m always looking for a good book.
Please share your finds!

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On Sunday: Shadow Shift

Framed In Fog by Drew Myron

Sometimes I open the small chamber of wonder

Sometimes I take my place in the order of things but

there is already an altar for secrets with knots and teeth.

I used to make sure to include in my life

people desperate with wonder:

yes or no: are you singing to the dogwoods?

do your dandelions shimmer in the ocher afternoon?

Now I collect people with oozing wounds:

yes or no: is your skin clammy and grey,

your pulse thready, your voice now a nod?

We are a club with no name

and a password that fogs

through empty rooms

I am not on fire. This is not a crisis.

This is just the ordinary hazard

of a window, like a mind, open.

Now the shadows are shifting.

Sitting quietly has signaled the sparrows

trying to fly. In this opening, a wing

lifts with a leash of light and

we study the glistening

with envy and awe.

— Drew Myron

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Thankful Thursday: What You Missed

It's Thankful Thursday.

Because attention attracts gratitude and gratitude expands joy, it's time to slice through the ugly and get to the good. As the season changes to lessons and learning, I’m thankful for this poem.

What are you thankful for today?

* * *

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Good Watching (for Word Nerds & Other Nuts)

Photo by charity shopper via Creative Commons

I’m on a wave on good watching.

Dramas, documentaries, and comics, too!
Power to readers & writers! thinkers & feelers!

As the Writers Guild of America continues to strike, I urge you to remember why writing matters, not just in books, but in movies, television, music & more. The world turns on words. Please read, write & acknowledge writers — with compensation, attribution & appreciation.

Here are six shows worth watching * (all written and produced prior to the strike):

1.
Turn Every Page: The Adventures of Robert Caro and Robert Gottlieb

A documentary about the 50-year relationship between two literary legends: writer Robert Caro and editor Robert Gottlieb.

Caro is the author of The Power Broker (a Pulitizer Prize-winning biography of Robert Moses, a city planner who dramatically transformed New York in the 1900s), along with numerous volumes on Lyndon B. Johnson. Gottlieb is the ever-patient editor of these massive tomes.

Now in their late 80s and 90s, the two still feud over semicolons and bicker about commas while also sharing deep respect and appreciation of the other.

2.
The Booksellers

This 2019 documentary is a loving celebration of book culture and a serious look at the future of books. It features a behind-the-scenes look at New York’s rare book business and the dedicated people who keep books alive.

The movie is produced by Parker Posey (a quirky actress I enjoy; even after all these years, Best in Show is my favorite comedy).

3.
Painkiller

This six-part drama series is the show you don’t want to watch but really need to see.

Focusing on the effects of the opioid crisis in America, the show examines the evil manipulations of Purdue Pharma, the pharmaceutical company (and Sackler family dynasty) that created OxyContin and strategically pushed it on the public.

The story is based on the New Yorker article by Patrick Radden Keefe, The Family That Built an Empire of Pain, as well as the book by Barry Meier, Pain Killer: An Empire of Deceit and the Origin of America's Opioid Epidemic.

4.
The Mustang

Based on a true story, this 2019 movie focuses on a prison inmate who participates in a rehabilitation program centered around the training of wild horses. Written by Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre, Mona Fastvold, and Brock Norman Brock.

5.
Living

Not much happens in this quiet movie about an ordinary man, and yet, so much transpires. Bill Nighy, the elegant Brit with a witty reserve, carries this thoughtful drama.

The movie has quite a lineage; it is based on a screenplay by Kazuo Ishiguro, adapted from the 1952 Japanese film Ikiru, which was partly inspired by the 1886 Russian novella The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy.

6.
Gabriel Rutledge

How did I not know of this wonderfully odd comedian? Gabriel Rutledge, who lives in Olympia, Washington, is just what I need right now: unusual, unexpected, funny.

* I watched these programs on Netflix, Amazon Prime, and YouTube. Please note that streaming availability is always changing.

* * *

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Fast Five with Alejandro Jimenez

“I believe writing, narratives, and stories can change the world.”

— Alejandro Jimenez

Welcome to Fast Five, in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Alejandro Jimenez is a formerly-undocumented immigrant, poet, writer, and educator from Colima, Mexico. As a writer, his work centers on the intersection of cultural identity, race/ethnicity, immigrant narratives, masculinity, and memory. He is the 2021 Mexican National Poetry Slam Champion, and a two-time National Poetry Slam Semi-Finalist in the U.S.

His work, and personal story, are the subject of the short documentary, American Masters: In The Making, a PBS series highlighting emerging cultural icons. 

Alejandro is author of Moreno Prieto Brown, a chapbook that explores growing up as an undocumented immigrant in the U.S. His first full-length poetry book, There will be days, Brown boy, was published in September 2023.

Alejandro grew up working with his family in the orchards of Oregon’s Hood River Valley, then moved to Denver, Colorado where he worked with youth. He now lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

1. 
Why write?

I write because it helps me to process and name feelings, experiences, and injustices that I see or have experienced. I write to not forget and not be forgotten. I write to connect with myself and others. I write because I feel alone and maybe through this I can connect with someone or someone will connect with me. I believe writing, narratives, and stories can change the world. I write because I want to really, really, really believe the last sentence.

2.
What books, movies, songs, or people have influenced your writing life — and how? 

Eduardo Galeano and how he tackles memory and historical amnesia is a huge influence of mine!

The movie, Ya No Estoy Aqui, cracked me open and made me feel so validated in how I experience and feel about Mexico and the US.

Layli Long Soldier is amazing! Her readings should be a bucket list item for all of us! 

3. 
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?

I cannot remember who said this but, I try to be okay with not writing. The amount of writing one produces does not determine our worth as writers. For example, answering these questions is the most I have written in a while! Do not feel guilty for taking extensive breaks from writing!

4.
I'm a word collector — what are your favorite words? 

Here are some of my favorites, all in Spanish: acurrucar, apapachar, moler, murmullar, suspirar, parparear, flujo, and encender. 

5.
What question do you wish I would ask?

Why didn't you ask me about my favorite corrido, Drew?! My favorite corrido, currently, is Catarino y Los Rurales. It is fun to sing and dance to it and the actual story behind the song is equally as amazing about a campesino who fought against greed, capitalism, state sanctioned violence against poor people, and really set the stage for the Mexican Revolution of the early 1900s.

There will be days, brown boy by Alejandro Jimenez is available now. Buy the book here.

In his debut full-length poetry collection, Alejandro Jimenez takes readers on a journey of self-discovery and introspection as he grapples with the profound concept of home.

Hanif Abdurraqib [ another of my favorite writers ] calls the book “a collection of enveloping tenderness.”

* * *

The world turns on words, please read & write. 

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Where are you?

First river, then field, now sky — by drew myron

Mapped

 
To be given a map or compass would prevent my getting lost —  what, for me, the making of poems requires from the start; the act of writing is a way of finding a way forward into the next clearing.    

— Carl Phillips

A poem is a gesture toward home.

 — Jericho Brown

1.

Somewhere is anywhere is everywhere is nowhere is here.

2.

You are silent. The current is coming.

A breeze breaks through / pushes us on.

Time moves between us, expands and breathes.

First river, then field, now sky.

3.

Inside your skeleton freedom passes / then glances back.  

Years ago you locked away but always left the key.

Now there is something new to see: everything waiting.

4.

Go among change.

Get lost, get hurt, get old.

Let go. Fray.

5.

Remember what once softened the world?

Lift your eyes to amber light, soft shoulders, a slow knowing.

Now turn around.

I’m still here.

* * *

The world turns on words, please read & write. 

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p.s. — I enjoy hearing from you. Send light here.

Thankful Thursday: Chance & Order

Is the world on fire?

Portugal, Italy, Greece, Canada, California, Hawaii, and more. I can’t type fast enough to keep up with the latest blaze.

Some days the world is just too much. The mind has its own capacity for disaster. Against the weight, we look for an exit. We watch a mindless movie, read a romance, sneak a nap, or wander the garden to harvest goodness. The mind seeks relief.

When my head is heavy and I lack mental space to read a novel, I reach for a magazine instead. And when I need less data and more dream, I make a cut-up poem. I like the messy chance of found phrases, combined with the orderly assignment of rearrangement. In a single session, I make something of the muddle.

It’s silly and simple, and a light balm for the weary mind. As with much of my writing practice, the results matter less than the act of making.

This piece is comprised of headlines culled from a handful of magazines. Remember those relics? Yes, print still lives, though barely. I find magazines at the library — plentiful and free!

The incredible disappearing doomsday boldly grows

How to stop worrying?

Feed your muse.

Eat more pasta.

Savor summer.

Seriously. Be yourself.

Find juicy savings in

a scrappy surprise.

It's Thankful Thursday. Because attention attracts gratitude and gratitude expands joy, it's time to slice through the ugly and get to the good. Today I am thankful for magazines, libraries & cut-up poems.

What are you thankful for today?

I always enjoy hearing from you. Send light here.

Sing Your Praises

1.
After years of writing alone, I’m reminded what a brave act it is to write with others. I’ve joined a writing group that meets weekly, writes quickly, shares eagerly. Every word is fresh from the pen, each of us offering ourselves on the page, like a date, a gift.

A voice shakes, a hand trembles. Huddled together in hope, we lean in, eyes open to the words, to the room’s reverent hush.

When done, the reader will often fix eyes on the page in a pause before praise arrives. A smile of gratitude appears, a bit of disbelief, a rush of relief.

Later, I won’t remember the poem or even a passage. It's the cracked voice I know, the tremor, the space between the last word and the first ahhhh.

Almost always, the act of gathering together is a victory. Each of us trusting the vulnerability that expression creates.

2.
The man is ill, weak and worn with life.

He’s just out of the hospital and wants to go back. That’s where he felt good, he says. Not here, in his small dark apartment where he lacks strength to leave the couch. Not here, where a volunteer delivers a meal that will help keep him alive.

Some days I pray, he says, stopping himself. Some days I pray to God. I pray to God that . . .

He looks away, letting the unsaid words hang in the air.

It’s heartbreaking — no, heartstretching — to have nothing to offer but a wan reach for conversation that tries to convey that I recognize his plea for relief.

I won’t offer empty encouragement, advice, or false cheer. We chat instead about the meal, the weather.

Some days it’s hard, I finally say. Hard to find the small reason to keep going. But I’m glad you’re here.

He nods. I nod, too.

3.
Though darkness gathers, praise our crazy fallen world; it's all we have, and it's never enough, writes Barbara Crooker in one of my favorite poems.

4.
In my work as a writer for local magazines, my favorite part is the interview. You’ve heard everybody has a story, and it’s true. My stories feature ordinary people — your neighbor, family or friend — who are farmers, ranchers, bakers, candlestick makers . . .

I spend a lot of time on research and interviews. To deepen the story, I’ll interview the subject’s neighbors, customers or clients. To get to those people, I wrap up the first interview with a simple question: Who will sing your praises?

Most people hesitate. Ummm . . . they’ll say, squirming as they imagine their friends, family or colleagues forced into offering false praise.

But that’s not how it goes. People want to sing praises! They are eager to share opinions. They’ll prattle on, happy to raise up the good people in their lives.

Seeing this positive response so many times, I believe it’s time to extend the praise beyond a journalist’s request and into our daily lives.

The challenge is that we don’t know how to give spontaneous praise. Most of us welcome the opportunity to applaud another, but we lack the push that will drive us from thought to expression. Spontaneous praise can sometimes feel forced, cheesy, or suspect (as in, why are they being so nice? what do they want from me?).

Maybe we all need someone who can inquire on our behalf:

Hi, I’m gathering information on Jane Smith. Will you please tell me what you love about her?

Or, maybe the first step starts with offering your own unsolicited praise of another. Without prompting, tell someone in your life what you appreciate about them. What makes you smile. How they brighten your life.

Write a letter. Send a text. Make a phone call. Get specific. Go wild!

In the practice of praise, all parties benefit. The praise-giver feels bolstered to share an opinion of appreciation, and the one accepting praise feels valued and seen. Go on, sing your praises today!

Sing your praises

Not the natter of mourning dove

or the bluejay's barbed call

not the frenetic beat of wings

or the honking of geese

When asked to sing your praises

there is a sweet sigh

like a space before a violin swells

a gathering of gratitudes

Silence, too, is a sound

full and satisfied

But oh! to hear the choir —

aligned in song

each note holy as

a hush, tuned

to a deeper hum

— Drew Myron

 * * *

The world turns on words, please read & write. 

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Thankful Thursday: Noticing

Driving to Dufur: A Study in Calm — photo by Drew Myron

Driving to Dufur

Some days
the mind spins
with wheels along
an easy road,
steady.

Some days
the beauty is
too much to
believe and
the distance is
a calm kind of
lull you want
to hold.

— Drew Myron

It's Thankful Thursday.

Because joy expands and contracts in direct relation to our sense of gratitude, I work hard to find the good. Yes, it sounds cheesy. Yes, it can be a chore.

But stick with me. I’m not looking for Hallmark happiness, all rainbows and kittens. Or a daily to-do, like washing the dishes.

Consider, instead, gratitude as an act of attention. As writers, our job is to be awake to the world. Gratitude, then, is a natural next step of noticing.

(Not surprisingly, one of my favorite weekly reads is The Art of Noticing by Rob Walker)

Please join me: What did you notice today? A person, a place, a poem? A story, a song, a sky? What are you thankful for today?

p.s. — I always enjoy hearing from you. Send light here.

* * *

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Good Books Lately

Ahh, those languid days of long light. Is there anything better than summer reading?

Okay, yes, winter is made cozy with good books, too. But summer is my favorite season. And I’m happy to share these good books I’ve recently enjoyed:

FICTION

The Index of Self-Destructive Acts by Christopher Beha

Don’t judge a book by its cover — judge the title instead. Index is a wonderfully well-written, completely-absorbing sprawl of a novel. Published in 2020, I don’t know how I missed this gem. Though I was initially daunted by its heft — 500 pages! — this complex family tale enthralled me. I zipped through this book in 24 short hours, and still wanted more.

Yellowface by R.F. Kuang

A fast and fevered story-within-a-story about writing and the publishing industry. Wrapped in questions of racism and theft, this novel reads like a thriller and for word-nerds (like me) it’s an irresistible combo. Published in May 2023, Yellowface is creating a sharp divide between lovers and loathers.

I like the insider-y vibe these kind of novels provide, and it turns out the writers-stealing-writing is a whole genre. Some of my favorites in this theme are: The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz  and Who is Maud Dixon by Alexandra Andrews (Fun Fact: Andrews is married to Christopher Beha, whose book is featured above).

POETRY

Blowout by Denise Duhamel

This book has been on my to-read list for 10 years. Yes, that long! Long ago suggested by a friend, I never got around to reading it and when I was ready the book was out of print. Thanks to ThriftBooks, I recently snagged a used copy. These poems are funny, sharp, conversational — and totally worth the wait!

[Yes, these poems induce a desire for exclamation!]

Released in 2013, the collection was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. The poems wander across a terrain of crushed hearts and failed love with generous amounts of wry humor and cutting delight.

The Lord and the General Din of the World by Jane Mead

From the first poem, I’m hooked. Every page of this powerful book offers an aching I don’t understand and yet completely comprehend. This 1995 collection is a complicated treasure, and the first of Mead’s five books.

“This collection is not a joyous book — very few contemporary poetry collections are — but it is not a cause for despair,” Philip Levine writes in the introduction. “It is because in these poems we suffer a world of madness, addiction, and death that the moments of redemption are so charged and significant.”

Concerning That Prayer I Cannot Make

Jesus, I am cruelly lonely
and I do not know what I have done
nor do I suspect that you will answer me.

And what is more, I have spent
these bare months bargaining
with my soul as if I could make her
promise to love me when now it seems
that what I mean when I said “soul”
was that the river reflects the railway bridge just as the sky
says it should — it speaks that language.

I do not know who you are.

I come here every day
to be beneath this bridge,
to sit beside this river,
so I must have seen the way
the clouds just slide
under the rusty arch—
without snagging on the bolts,
how they are borne along on the dark water—
I must have noticed their fluent speed
and also how that tattered blue T-shirt
remains snagged on the crown
of the mostly sunk dead tree
despite the current’s constant pulling.
Yes, somewhere in my mind there must
be the image of a sky blue T-shirt, caught,
and the white islands of ice flying by
and the light clouds flying slowly
under the bridge, though today the river’s
fully melted. I must have seen.

But I did not see.

I am not equal to my longing.
Somewhere there should be a place
the exact shape of my emptiness—
there should be a place
responsible for taking one back.
The river, of course, has no mercy—
it just lifts the dead fish
toward the sea.

Of course, of course.

What I meant when I said “soul”
was that there should be a place.

On the far bank the warehouse lights
blink red, then green, and all the yellow
machines with their rusted scoops and lifts
sits under a thin layer of sunny frost.

And look—
my own palm—
there, slowly rocking.
It is my pale palm—
palm where a black pebble is turning.

Listen—
all you bare trees
burrs
brambles
piles of twigs
red and green lights flashing
muddy bottle shards
shoe half buried—listen

listen, I am holy.

— Jane Mead

Your Turn: What are you reading?
I’m always looking for a good book.
Please share your gems!

You are looking for words

the color of ash — erasure poem by drew myron

[ tunnel five fire ]

the forest is
the color of ash

fire blackened
the breeze

on a sweltering
july day, the air

might explode

The wildfire rages on. Wind quickens and smoke thickens. Despite five helicopters, four tankers, and hundreds of firefighters, the blaze sweeps through days.

Still, summer continues. The cool river fills with frolic. Workers toil. Tourists stroll. Vacation rolls on. How could it not? How could it still?

This is the era of disassociation. We look away and beyond. Our survival skills are now so honed we can distance every discomfort that is not our own. In this age of both fortune and futility, how do we balance head, heart and happenings?

I turn to the old answers: reading, writing, scratching. You are looking for words to sustain you, writes Joy Harjo, to counter despair.

Indeed.  

Hot, Dry, Overwrought

Quietly Hoped, a visual poem by Drew Myron

they greeted me,
the canopy of cedars —
and quietly hoped.

The first forest fire of the season has ignited the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area — where I live.

As water jets fly overhead and smoke fills the hot box of July, we sit and stew and watch, wait, pray.

This is not new. In Oregon, and the western U.S., every summer is fraught.

In 2017, the Eagle Creek Fire destroyed 50,000 acres, threatened homes, closed major roadways for miles, and smoldered for three months. The fire was started by a teenager lighting firecrakers in the forest.

In 2018, multiple fires raced to the east of us, in Wasco and Sherman counties, burning hot and fast with a force that consumed wheat crops, homes, and took the life of a farmer as he tried to save his neighbor’s land. Over two months, the fires burned nearly 250,000 acres.

Hot weather, driving wind, and dry land is a potent combination, and increasingly common. Grim is the new normal.

But you know this. You’ve seen the news. Maybe you’ve driven past a matchstick forest with scorched understory. Or you’ve lived through an evacuation, rushing to pack your history and your fear. Or maybe you’ve been safe from danger but your neighbhorhood filled with smoke, as you secured every window and door to keep your family safe.

The world is hot, dry, overwrought.

I don’t know what to do. Powerless, I pace the house watching the smoke grow. I refresh my web browser for the latest news. I hear the planes jet back and forth, carting water to quell the fire. Restless, I try to read but cannot settle.

We are safe, we are not in the line of fire, and I am grateful.

Still, a fire rattles. By instinct, I reach for pen and paper. I erase words to find meaning in the quiet calm of making.

Note: Erasure poem and images were salvaged from “Saving Forests" which appeared in the May 2022 edition of National Geographic.

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The world turns on words, please read & write. 

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Thankful Thursday (on Friday)

Revelation

If a matter of how

falls upon your rocky life,

                               sigh

Your sleep is arrested.

Your body swirls in tight circles across

a floodplain once parched.

Even so, take this day in a

tight grip and repeat after me:

ripples, wild, lovely         mine

— Drew Myron

* * *

It's Thankful Thursday, on Friday. Let’s wrap up the week on a high note.

Joy expands and contracts in direct relation to our sense of gratitude. What are you thankful for today? A person, a place, a thing? A story, a song, a poem?

What makes your heart expand?

Collect Call

Collect Call, photo by Drew Myron

The dead are never far from us. They're in our hearts and on our minds and in the end all that separates us from them is a single breath, one final puff of air.

― William Kent Krueger, from the novel Ordinary Grace

 
1.

The dead, they call me.
Night after night they die again.
In earth wasted, they turn in graves.

I've tried to be a good survivor.
Still, the dead take stage to relive
last moments to an audience of one.

They lead me through dark streets and
wrecked cars, leaving me bleary and fogged
in the click click click of a flickering film.

2.

I admire their resilience.
I applaud a performance that
tethers me to a repeating past.

In this show, they carry sobs that
make no sound and I claw for words
that will shake us awake.

3.

I cannot find the beginning, just a string
of ends among the ragged sweetpea and
morning chill that glooms the day.

This place of rust and ash, waves and rain,
none of it calls me. Not dim whisper
or urgent whine.

I keep waiting for something to
matter more than a minute, this day,
these long years.

4.

In daylight, when uncertainty burns bright,
we call to you like a god for guidance.
We look for signs and make up meaning.

After a time, we stop waving, stop looking
for our loves, stop seeing you crossing
the street or driving away.

5.

In the dark theater of sleep
I stumble for a seat, look
for you in the life I knew.

Each night your voice
calls me back,
closer, still.

— Drew Myron

* * *

The world turns on words.
Please read & write.

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Thankful Thursday: Poems in Public

It’s always a delight to spot poetry in public. Like a whispered secret, I get a shiver of happy recognition.

On a walk through the neighborhood recently I noticed a fresh stretch of concrete, followed by an abrupt end. And then, just where the new sidewalk meets brush and bramble, this poems appears:

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends.

— Shel Silverstein

When I see ridiculous rules take precedence over common sense — like erecting an eyesore sign as a way to minimize liability — it’s refreshing to see a poem rise up in clever response.

In other ridiculousness, the work of Shel Silverstein — author of Where the Sidewalk Ends, The Giving Tree, and other beloved children’s books — is on the list of frequently banned books (source: American Library Association).

To me today, this poem-in-public is a gentle push against power, a reminder to keep reading, writing & walking.

* * *

It's Thankful Thursday. Joy expands and contracts in direct relation to our sense of gratitude. What are you thankful for today? A person, a place, a thing? A story, a song, a poem? What makes your world, and your heart, expand?

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Thankful Thursday: 15

Please join me for Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to express appreciation for things large and small. Because attention attracts gratitude and gratitude expands joy, let’s share our appreciation.

On this Thankful Thursday, I am grateful for this blog — now running for 15 years — and for you, who gives the gift of your time, attention and care.

Thank you!

* * *

Fifteen is deeply, mostly, dare and dive.

Fifteen is gripping the wheel, learning to drive.

Fifteen is on edge, both fierce and afraid.

Fifteen is Noxzema nights and spaghetti-strap days.
Permed hair with Sun-In streaks.
Culture Club, Modern English, The Cure.

Fifteen is forced laughs and clammy hands.

At 15 I was a wedge of crazy, a basket of boastful and bashful in many quick turns.

Established in 2008, this blog is now 15. Happy birthday!

“And so, let’s go,” I wrote on that first day, “not with the thunder of the self-absorbed, but in the same way a single word, spoken softly, carries great weight.”

The more things change, the more they don’t. Like flip phones and facebook, blogs have lost their cool. In the quest for relevance, this format is a relic against substack, tiktok, and a rash of new creative outlets.

Still, I like quiet spaces and steady habits — and sharing the bits, pieces and pursuit of life’s “whispering voices.”

The world turns on words. I'm happy you're here.

15 — on a blog anniversary

Whispering voices call

soft as blossom

love and time

wave.

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On Sunday: Empty Space

What curious terror

If fate pulls our will I could         perhaps

imagine a beautiful freedom

but I tie up in storms

want to be safe, sure against

a terrible wind not yet behind us.

The waves keep coming and

rain wracks our steely calm.

Where does the the silence go?

Let the pause linger, you tell me.

Find power in the empty              space.

— Drew Myron

* * *

The world turns on words.
Please read & write.

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to your email.

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Five Finds

Hello Readers,

Life is full of dust and delights, and small things often make a mark.

Here are Five Finds I’ve savored lately. Maybe you will, too:

1.
Excellent Advice for Living: Wisdom I Wish I'd Known Earlier by Kevin Kelly

 A small book packed with short, simple, good advice. Stuff you know but forget to live. Makes an excellent gift for grads, and a gentle reminder for, well, everyone.

2.
The Ground I Stand On by Alejandro Jimenez

Got 12 minutes to be moved?

Watch this short documentary from PBS’s American Masters: In the Making, showing the creative process of Alejandro Jimenez, a performance poet from Colima, Mexico who grew up in Hood River, Oregon as an immigrant farm worker, moved to Colorado and worked with young writers and incarcerated adults, and now lives in New Mexico.

3.
Love grows by what it remembers of love.

This is the last line from a 1959 poem, In the Thriving Season, by Lisel Mueller. Mueller is among my favorite poets (because of When I Am Asked) but I often forget my love. The other day I remembered again the beautiful way in which she gathers solitude and loneliness together.

4.
Margins by Tamara Grosso
This palm-sized book is an innovative delight. Small and smart, it’s a book of poems written in the margins of other works. Each poem is less than 12 lines, and includes the title and author of the original work that inspired the margin poem. And it’s in Spanish and English! And it’s only $5 to $10 on a sliding scale, or you can print your own copy.

The publisher is No Good Home, and this collective is making creative works in fresh & inventive ways.

5.
They’re Going to Love You, a novel by Meg Howrey

Here’s my measure of a good book:
• I can’t stop reading.
• I don’t want it to end, but also want to read as fast as I can.
• I copy especially good lines and then realize I’ve transcribed nearly every page.
• It’s a book I wish I could write.

I filled my journal with passages. Here’s one:

Having to struggle doesn’t necessarily make you interesting, it might just make you tired.

* * *

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The world turns on words, please read & write. 

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