a record of night

In honor of three years of poetry on this blog, I'm pleased as punch to introduce my small chapbook a record of night to you!

You can purchase it on Amazon!

Or, if you don't have a kindle (or dislike Amazon), you can purchase it on etsy

If you feel so inclined, readers, I would love any feedback you have on Amazon page.

Peace, love, and good night!

-Kirstin

Why you should subscribe to poem-a-day, and other uncomfortably sexy things...

This poem, um, is fabulous. These Hands, If Not Gods by Natalie Diaz.

Haven't they moved like rivers--
like Glory, like light--
over the seven days of your body?

And...

Aren't they, too, the dark carpenters
of your small church? Have they not burned
on the altar of your belly, eaten the bread
of your thighs, broke you to wine, to ichor,
to nectareous feast?

Seriously. Go. Read it. I'm not normally for weirdly erotic religious poetry, but if you pretend like this is about a super sexy lover, it makes you crave a cigarette and a glass of wine. Um. Or you feel really awkward afterwards. Look, I don't need to know about your hangups and you don't need to know about mine.

My favorite part is Natalie Diaz' about-this-poem:

The images and hands of this poem began building during Mass one Sunday. The reading was about the laying of hands on someone, and I began thinking of how my own hands work upon a body. How they do things both beautiful and awful—to gently trace a throat in one moment, to hold it tightly in another—a type of sweet wreckery that makes me feel godlike and helpless all at once.

If that kind of imagery was building up in my mind during church, I probably would have stayed Catholic. Damn.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Cindy, Sam, me & some poetry: I stopped by Cindy's to go through her edits for record of night.

Meanwhile, my blogaversary is coming up tomorrow! I wish I could bake you all cookies. I might bake cookies anyway...  or buy them. And eat them. Without you. Okay, okay, I'll instagram you some photos, if you're sweet.

I don't think you're ready for this jelly.

Rambles and a poem fragment...

Lunchtime blog is written during lunch.

Somebody brought me caffeine. I haven't started drinking it, but you better watch your ass when I do! Caffeine is GO TIME.

So, basically, this is a ramble blog. I just wanted to write to you guys. It helps me past the time while I wait for my work to come back to me. I'm waiting for my birds to fly back to me. It's cool, I have a nest and some sweet worms. Or something. Is this awkward? Anyways...

I would fly North,
But it wouldn't
be a true migration-
not the way bees
carry honey to
their true love.

Ok, so my lunch is two minutes from being over. Peace out, homies.