How could I write poetry when I didn’t know how? I decided not to let this stop me.

I don’t consider myself a poet. I had only written a few poems before in my life, and these mainly
just showed up, almost fully formed, like the one I wrote about my father after he died.

Sometimes words would come into my mind as I painted, as I read through the interview transcripts,
or as I remembered spending time with each of the people I interviewed.

I found that I could paint with words in a way that was similar to how I create with paint. I would mess
around and just let things emerge, then clean them up afterward.

I got support from poet friends (thank you Barbara Johnstone and Christian Gollub) and from Tara Hardy,
who I now consider a friend. At the opening reception of Gender Personal at Kirkland Arts Center she came
up to me, gave me a hug, and said “good line breaks.” Thanks, Tara.

Poetry