Daughters age so fast. Wars disappear from view as we watch, mostly don’t watch. Pervasive violence of contemporary culture as “war.” My daughters Sonia (four) and Alma (one) as “daughters.” Wanting to write the beautiful horror of these things together, to hold them as they run through my fingers, to make permanent this terrible enchantment of being; what luck to have these skies and not those with drones coming to bomb us, what luck to wake to brilliant daughters, what horror of universities building of elements to melt flesh, what horror of mechanized death, how to write these things with the same breath, think them with the same mind. Forcing my quotidian happiness into dialogue with that terror.
Because I believe in the value of formal constraints, I am doing the above through the following:
1) Poems will be 28 lines long.
2) Poems will start with a line from a poem by another poet, going in reverse alphabetical order (first day Zawacki, second day Young, so on).
3) That line will come from the 28th page of a book or project.
4) Where possible, poets who will provide the first line have been asked to choose the line themselves.