Last Saturday I completed my fourth MFA Residency and like all the other three times, my head is impacted. Filled with ideas, half thought out poems, questions, answers, new ways of experiencing the world, and deep gratitude for everything and everyone I knew before. Residency pulls me out of the rigmarole of life and awakens me to what could be.

Everything and all of the things in and surrounding me becomes a wide galaxy of stars to explore.

I am reminded—this one time, I am here, alive.

It reminds me of when I fell in love with drawing. Pencil in hand all the shadows, curves and hard lines—the sweep of my husband’s long eyelashes against his deep eyes, the slender lines of my hands—everything near me became beautiful and worth exploring and drawing.

Suddenly, I could see—I am here, alive and witnessing this all-beautiful world.

When I was younger I would choose to turn seeing off. Everything took longer, took more time, more care. I could not just see a lemon, or cloud, snail, or blade of grass; I had to see the yellow, bumpy rind of the lemon, the shape of the silver cloud shadows, the spiral of the snail shell, and the bend in the blade of grass. If I was drawing this beautiful thing, I’d ask myself, where would I start? What pieces of light and line is it made of? How does it place itself in this world?

If you could imagine that process took time. And even still, I didn’t have the language to communicate, to others, and myself what I was doing and why. So I chose, sometimes, most times quite honestly, to turn it off. To stop seeing and speed up living.

Last night out of the blue I told E, “I’m almost sixty.”

“What?” E laughed. “Get out of here.” He looked at me lying on his shoulder and laughed. “Almost sixty? How are you almost sixty?”

I told him, “In twenty-three years I’ll be sixty.”

“How is that even close to being sixty?” I expected him to tell me he’s closer, five years my elder means he always hits the milestones well before I do, but he didn’t. He laughed, “Get out of here. Almost sixty.” And laughed some more before kissing me.

I was thinking about seeing. Specifically how many more things I want to see. I was not thinking about how much life I have left, because for the record—sixty is still very young, but I was thinking about slowing down and seeing. Slowing down and living. Tasting all of the clouds that pass over my head, hearing all the bird songs, smelling and feeling all the plants, and seeing all the animals. Slowing down and living.

Living is not the same for all of us, and it shouldn’t be. The world needs all of our different ways of living. Some of us live to see the world in the grandest way—moving from country to country, experiencing cultures, and different ways of being in the world. Others live deeply in their bodies and want to push themselves physically to grow stronger, leaner, more flexible. Some challenge themselves to make a mark on the world, working to ensure their and others’ voices are heard, documented, counted. And then there are others, like me, who want to touch and see the things around them, who want to be present and available no matter where they are, what they are doing, or what is becoming of them. We want to witness the majesty in all the small and medium and large pieces of the world.

I want to see with artist eyes. Take my time and live eyes open, eyes touching the world.

Instead of choosing to turn seeing off, as I did when I was younger, I have to work to keep it on. I have to slow down, when all of life tells me to speed up. I have to develop patience and practice mindfulness. I have to remain grounded.

If you ask me what being a poet means I will tell you a poet is awake to all the small and medium and large pieces of the world. Be them majestic or tragic, beautiful or abhorrent, simple or complex—poets are alive and render the world into words we all can take in, in our own ways so that we may know that we too are alive, witnessing this all-beautiful world.

I write to that goal. I write to see.

Poetry is intimate. It provides a path into the poet’s inner life at the same time that it journeys into the inner life of the audience.

Six months into a year-long study of poetry I fill I can get my arms around it. It is like hugging the wind, all you have to do is be vulnerable enough to stretch yourself open, to splay yourself to the world and then poetry will hug every part of you. Just like air it is all over and in all of us.

I hope you will always hug the wind.

Gardening Tip:

The Benefits of Bolting Herbs and Vegetables

Leave a few plants to bolt and go to seed. Many herbs and spices you can grow in your garden have edible seeds and flowers. In addition to edible seeds, The flowers will attract bees, which is great for pollinating your vegetables. The other benefit of letting your plants bolt is volunteers. As the flowers give way to seed, the seeds will overwinter in your soil and sprout. Often times these volunteers will be better suited to your climate than the previous generation.

How?

Allow your vegetables, herbs to go to seed. Don't pinch back flower growth, the flowers give way to the seeds. Continue to water and care for the plant through the fruiting stage. Harvest the seeds when they are dry on the plant. A good indicator that the seeds are ready for harvesting is when the flower head and/or seed pod turns brown and is paper dry. This process is faster in warmer climates. Once you harvest your seeds, if you are planning to eat them, freeze them for 48 hours, for better long term storage.

Benefits of Bolting:

1. Flowers attract bees, which pollinate your garden.

2. Edible seeds, flowers.

3. Hardy volunteers next season.

All Love,

Kiandra