Wild Ginger

My cat ran away in February 2012. She was my first that was wholly my own and not a pet I shared in living with my parents. In that devastation I searched for and purchased a storage container to serve as the basic structure of an earth-bermed cabin to keep from succumbing to the overwhelming despair that gripped me whenever I contemplated what could or might have happened to her. I needed to stay busy. Four nights after she ran away I saw her on my back porch but she took off as soon as I opened the door, which made an unnerving tearing sound when you would open it. The situation had an impossibility to it but I started sleeping with my doors open. I remind you that it was February, so it was frigid. Anything could have entered my home. An opossum could have chewed on my face but nothing ever did, that I know of, except for her three weeks later to the day. It was early in the morning, 6 or so, and she meowed from the kitchen. I awoke in a fright and yelled, "Who's there?" Haha. She was dreaded and smelled stale and musty like she had been in a basement or crawlspace. The book begins here.

I had just finished publishing my first poetry book, Where the Honey Meets the Wildcat. It leaves off right where this one begins. I had always been a bit of a nature boy but my communion with the forest and all that inhabits it has continued to deepen in ways I never imagined. This book expresses that more than anything else. I dabbled in haiku composition for awhile and "one breath" poems, the only time I have ever committed to a form. I believe I finally understood it not long before I ceased writing altogether for a time. When I returned my perspective had shifted and haiku no longer came to me. A shame, really. There was peace there and fertility. But not all experiences can be painted that way, whittled down to just one breath of words. Richness is affirming too. I find that no matter what form my poems take, they are always about revelation and insight.