TILT cover sneakpeek & 'Posthum—'
Dear readers,
As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’ve taken a break from my work here as I focus on the final edits and decisions for my *first* poety collection TILT. It gets granular about the last three years of my life. I cannot express how proud I am to get it out into the world—and in your hands.
Here is a draft of the cover! I will released details on where you can purchase it when it’s released in late January.
When I’m not typing away at TILT, I’m back at the White House in DC. I landed a reporting gig for Bloomberg News there in the fall. All of this is a heartening and exciting sign that I have recovered enough to gain some of my life back. Though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I still have challenging days. But, as my therapist reminds me, I know my body very well now.
Without further adu, here is “Posthum—” from the collection.
I wrote this poem when I was thinking about how we choose to live and die, and our legacy. In the thick of a terrible Long Covid relapse, when I was unsure of how the future would look and too cognitively impaired to communicate all that was running through me, a short conversation took place. I had gone through the heartbreak of accepting death, and by then acknowledged that I might have a shorter life than I had imagined. I told my husband Jerry about how I wanted to be remembered and gave him instructions.
Posthum—
I handed him access to the file I write my poems in.
I want you to publish these if I die,
Posthum—
the word churns and stalls.
—Posthumously,
he finished the thought,
casual as
a grocery list, my death.
He knows every freckle,
every dragged-out day
when he finds me moaning into a cushion
with a rosary
or celebrating the word,
he has been there the whole time
and I will stay with him.
I do not know how much time I have left.
I have learned there are things worse than death.
No it has been a good life.
No task runner made of me,
no snuffed out flame,
no ride-along in the backseat,
I held the candle
the entire time.
You will have it here,
to light and warm you,
as my voice rings to life.
After my body has gone,
you have the key,
you know what to do.