Poetry isn’t a
writing residency at some
chichi
place where
you stand around and talk among
flaccid hors d'oeuvres
and drink Authorial Intent Ale
while thinking briefly over the
workshop sheets you’ll be discussing
tomorrow
when
everyone knows
you just want to get to and through
your own.
Crown me now,
and also,
tell me why my work
sucks.
But mostly, crown me.
Poetry needs
3 a.m. and
a phrase overheard on the subway
and
a love so deep and wide
you can only carry it
with a hand truck
and a pack of Gitanes.
And yet
you have.
(And maybe it needs a red pen.)
Drema Drudge is a novelist and poet whose poetry blends emotional candor and the everyday with longing. She has an MFA from the Naslund-Mann Graduate School of Writing, and her work has appeared in The Word’s Faire, The Louisville Review, Spectrum, and others.

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