My anger, like all angers doesn’t revolve down through cloud after cloud of cover ups, doesn’t pop out of a blister and scald everything, but, like the way you also think, touches down on a moment of certainty like this.
You asked me why I didn’t become a poetry professor at a university and instead help little kids with extreme needs, and I’m not going to repeat myself here, but I gave you a long list of reasons that seemed to go on forever. I can best explain it with a little story. Once at … Continue reading Quarter-Mile Caregiver, A Poem by Chris Russell
Poetry for me, isn’t a place to let myself get defeatist. It’s a space where I can be curious about why I worry I’ll never be true enough. Which is what I do all the time now, now that I’m 45 going on 300. I don’t want to engage with language and its minion silence … Continue reading Where I Can Be Curious About Why I Worry, A Poem by Chris Russell