As are The Hams. For the past year, the four of us have met once a monthish to share and talk poetry. We get together on perfect-early-summer-green-evening porches and in gorgeous grown-uppy living rooms (and sometimes at my house). We sip tea and wine and sometimes there's pie (never pork) and always it's lovely.
For me, it's like being surrounded by a dream team of poets. (I keep hoping they won't notice I don't belong among them. But, in addition to being superb writers, they're also kind and generous people, which is probably why they let me stay.)
It's so heartening to have three people in the world who are eager to think about poetry, who invest time in reading and caring about my work. Who push and poke and prod and pep-talk. Who can turn a poem on its head or help find its feet.
And who trust me with their work -- it's a huge honour.
(Of course, I can't think of Plastered Hams without this plastered ham coming to mind. OK, I think it was papier mache. Still.)
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