Winner of the Stevens Poetry Manuscript Competition
A Passion for WORDS
When I hold a pen in my hand I am like a tree ready to be tapped. Think of me as a Sugar Maple, having stored up last year's sunshine, weathered the winter wind and snow, and now in the days of chilly nights and warming afternoons I am ready to let my collected light seep out and the pen is the tap that pierces my bark. Without it, I would hold in all the goodness and light, then venom and tears, the sights I have seen . I would hide under my canopy of leaves until summer waned and I would return to my winter sleep without sharing a thing. Instead there is this moment of opening, this pale sugary sap that you can tip your tongue into or hold a bucket under to take home and boil down to its essence and taste and taste and taste.