Friday when I came home, I found a large envelope waiting for me in my mailbox. The return address was from one of our local community colleges. I knew what it was almost immediately: the literary magazine in which last year's winning poem had been published.
I came up the driveway, gathered up the rest of my stuff, and came on in the house. I didn't stay in the car to open it. I felt strangely hesitant about the whole thing. I got everything situated inside, fed all the furry creatures, and then opened the package.
The magazine is lovely this year as always. They've designed an interesting theme. I flipped through and found mine fairly quickly.
It's always so different when I see my stuff in print. I feel tremendously proud that it got in, but at the same time, I always see at least a dozen things I wish I'd done differently. I never stop tinkering with the poems anyway, but somehow all their glaring faults stick out so much more clearly once they've been formatted and printed professionally.
Maybe my stuff isn't meant for that, after all. Or maybe everybody feels this way about what they write. I don't know, really. I wish I had a community of other poets to talk to about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment
And then you said.....