Almost Certified

Ever since last Sunday, I've been feeling like a real poet instead of just a pretender. Because someone outside the immediate circle of poets, family and friends posted on FaceBook that I was one of her "favorite poets in all the world." But the euphoria is wearing off, and I realize that what I have to do is "lodge a few poems where they can't be ignored," as Frost said.

So I'm going to start annoying The New Yorker by sending them a group of four poems every month until they give in and publish one. I may have to use a pen name like Hrvak Jroykin or Po Nuyen. And send in my subscription renewal money.

And publish a book of all my prize-winning poems!!!
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Susan's sister supper yesterday was wonderful. It was just the three of us, and we straightened everything out. Temporarily, at least.
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There's a mockingbird outside my window, sitting on a holly bush and eating the berries. And turning her head this way every time I whistle.