Her Right Mind: Poems

Thirty poems by a non-poet. She writes fiction and takes photographs; she doesn’t read, like, or understand poetry (well, except for Billy Collins and Edna St. Vincent Millay, but who doesn’t like those two?). Then, every now and then over three decades she writes a poem, which she also doesn’t like. A poem about starlings, a sandbox, a grasshopper, angst. But then, after twenty or so years she reads them back to herself. Hmm. Not so bad. Not great. But not so bad. And anyway, she needs to do something to tide herself over while she’s racking her brains for a novel topic. (Not a novel topic, a novel topic.) Imagine her surprise when a whole book of poems pulls itself together almost instantly, complete with cover, dedication, table of contents, bio, and this blurb. How did that happen? But, sadly, it leaves her still racking her brain for a novel topic (i.e. a topic for a novel).