There are days that I love being a poet. What I do scares people. Yesterday afternoon, during some porch-settin’, one of my poet friends held forth about how English is an iambic language. It isn’t that we have a ton of iambic words, she said, it’s that we have a lot of single stressed words and articles that make a phrase like “the dog” become iambic. Who knew? I can’t cite a political fact correctly to save my life, but take that fans of the English language!
I thrive on melodrama. I don’t like real drama, it stresses me out. But taking tiny instances and making them into big deals for the amusement of others? This is how I live and blog! Can I make you feel the joys and difficulties of a marriage by describing how the bittersweet is inextricably entwined with my rhododendron and the lighter green brings out the darker green of the bush without mentioning my partner once? Transform my guilt over not doing yard work into a meditation on relationships? Yes, yes I can.
And it allows me to write pretentious titles of blog posts like “poetry and bread.” And if any of you care about my newfound bread obsession, I’m making “rustic white bread” and the recipe can be found here. So good.
What are you melodramatic about?