of all of the things I seem unable to write about
love, for one thing. I don’t know how
to write anything convincing about love.
As my children grow up and my husband gets older
I grow more and more resigned to the things I can’t feel
love, especially, I don’t think I know what it is.
If I sit and analyze my heart
I’m uncomfortably aware of this pantomime of caring
my fake day-to-day. This is something
I can write about:
my shortcomings as a human.
The things I haven’t done.
All of my lies.
Author Bio:
Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota, since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Big Muddy, The Cape Rock, New Ohio Review, and Gargoyle, and her published books include Walking Twin Cities, Music Theory for Dummies, Ugly Girl, and The Yellow Dot of a Daisy. She has been a featured presenter at Write On, Door County (WI), North Coast Redwoods Writers' Conference (CA), and the Spirit Lake Poetry Series (MN). Her newest poetry collections, A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press) and I'm in a Place Where Reason Went Missing (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.) will be out late 2018.