On reading Amber Dawn’s “How I Got My Tattoo”

Of late, I’ve been drawn to lesbian poets, or

in the metaphysical realm, they to me.

I don’t seek them out, they’re not my singular intention,

and my MacBook doesn't beep when a lesbian writes a poem.

  

But in seeking-out poems generally, they seem to show-up,

and when they do they take over, captivating my sensibilities.

It’s not surprising that this revelation is happening now, after reading

Dawn’s fiery glissando of time, and its struggles with her beloved Valentine.

I welcome the periodic phenomenon, and my approach is determined,

but cautionary, and I admire the confessional sincerity and the ferocity

of conviction.

Notation:

When I chose to use the above "glissando" as a description of the poem,

I was reaching for an example not directly tied to poetics, so

when I spotted it, (even though it's sort-of a stretch) I jumped on it like

a bloodthirsty tick to an unlucky capillary, and–– well,–– I guess that's that.

7/12/22