Today was probably my favorite day of this experience, and it was the first day I did not go anywhere. I spent a bit of time on the wrap-around porch at the bed and breakfast and then moved upstairs, to my cozy room, where I edited away nearly the entire day, spare a few hours when a headache sidelined me (migraines are so helpful).

Of the 36 poems I had set aside and deemed worthy of editing, I categorized about a dozen as "family" poems -- mostly writing about my grandparents. I then categorized 16 or so as "self" poems, including writing about relationships/marriage and questions. These categories are a bit clunky/shallow, but I could quickly see that nearly everything I write is shaped by intense personal experience or observation of people in my life.

There were only two poems that could not fit in either category. One is from high school and isn't great, but I still like the idea of it. The other is probably one of my favorites, "Adam Responds to Lucille Clifton", which I wrote after reading Clifton's series of poems about Adam and Eve. She's one of my favorite poets, and I love her exploration of Adam and Eve. I don't know how my poem does standing in isolation -- it works but is still best understood alongside her poems, as they provide context. I won't submit it anywhere, and will just keep it around as a reminder that good writing informs good writing. I could not have written that poem without first reading and understanding Clifton's.

As of right now, I am counting six poems as final (or rather, ready to share). Most of these were previously polished or very close to it, and three of them have won awards before, so I don't really get to claim them as accomplished work for today. I spent the majority of my time today editing three poems, which I'm not calling done just yet:

• Everything passes through hospital curtains -- Originally written in January 2004 about a moment with my grandmother at the hospital. I can't believe it has been six years since I originally wrote it! Just goes to show how much I hate using the word "final" on any poem. I came back to this one today to work out some kinks in the perspective and shapen it up. I continue to strive for line breaks of which Diane Wakoski would be proud, but they continue to give me hell. (I keep expecting them to be intuitive when in fact I need to help them be more intentional.)
• At the apple orchard with my mother -- Originally written in October 2004, and I believe this is one I workshopped with Diane. This one was struggling. I originally wrote it with too much or too lazy of a metaphor, and the tension I intended to create did not serve the main point well enough. I think it may still be missing something, but I like and want to build up to the revelation (which is the line I first thought of in 2004 that inspired the whole poem): "I feel so heavy on the branch, / so ripe but unwilling to fall."
• Reclaim (working title) -- Originally written this January, as a sonnet for my Stanford poetry class. It was not a good sonnet, or even a technically correct sonnet, but I had to write one for the class and I had been wanting to explore the material. It's about my grandmother (on my mom's side) at my brother's house, when he first moved in and some bees were destroying his pear tree. There are two moments from that day I've been trying to work into a poem or two. First, my grandma was watching my dad examine the tree, and she asked us, "Can he bring it back to life?" It really struck me at the time, watching her with emerging alzheimer's observe the tree and ask such a question. The other moment is when I spied her in the garage, playing the old piano that was being stored there. She was not playing a song -- she was just clamoring around on the keys. It was a very odd, almost forlorn image -- an old woman, framed by the otherwise empty garage, playing a piano that did not belong there.

I'm putting "Reclaim" back in the files for another day. It's turned into more of a re-write than an edit... besides, it appears that I do better letting things sit for oh, six years or so, before really editing them.

I'm going to migrate to some of the "self" poems for the rest of tonight and hopefully spend some time on them tomorrow. Editing continues to be my favorite part of the creative process. I wish I had another week to sit in this small room and be intentional with every word.

This morning began the way every morning should: I woke up after a full nights' sleep, I took my sweet time getting ready for the day and thinking all the while, I ate a plate of yummy homemade cherry-cream cheese stuffed French toast, and then I got in the car and drove about an hour to Petoskey, thinking and scenery-watching the whole time.

While in Petoskey, I nabbed a private booth and some surprisingly good chicken avocado and rice soup at Roast and Toast, and spent a couple hours revisiting the poetry I've written (at least what's on my computer) since 2001, when I first really began writing poetry. I opened every file and read through nearly every poem. I then moved any poems with promise or good lines to borrow into a separate folder. In the end, I had revisited probably a couple hundred poems, and 36 made it to this special folder.

I learned some things about myself during this process -- or in some cases, I remembered some things about myself, like:

• I was more imaginative with form when I was younger, as well as with themes and storytelling in my poetry. This either means I've developed my voice/approach over the years (in a good way), or I've been stifling myself with too much internal criticism.
• I used to attempt to write song lyrics. Not a lot, but with some intention. I didn't remember that at all.
• I wrote some really self-righteous poetry. Not all the time, but enough to make me grateful for having had a poetry hiatus in recent years... I know I am bringing more life experience (and hopefully more wisdom) to my writing now. 
• I've always struggled with my need to be independent as it relates to how I connect to people. This runs counter to the point I just made above, but my poems about this in high school and early college actually have a fair amount of insight on this, which was nice to discover.

I think I am going to use the majority of my time during this "retreat" to polish some poems rather than focus on generating new poems. I have typically sought to publish my poetry on a limited basis, probably because I've been more careful and particular about it than my other writing. When I used to write for publication frequently (article writing), the process seemed to be a good catalyst for new ideas and new writing. There is something that feels good about putting my work out in the universe. I don't need to have it recognized -- just the process of releasing it generally helps me make space for new efforts.

And of course, reading the work of others also helps make new space. Tonight I read Without, by Donald Hall. I chose it because I have heard a lot about Donald Hall but have not had much exposure to his work, and also because the poems in Without have thematic similarities to my own. Many of the poems are written to his wife, poet Jane Kenyon, and also chronicle the experience of her cancer and eventual death from it. It is a very powerful collection... striking and honest, accessible yet profound in how it frames moments of living and the process of dying and separation.

A very good meditation from which to begin my editing tonight and tomorrow.