I’ve got a poem, “Letter to the Editor,” in this week’s New Yorker. No one’s more surprised than I am.
You can read, and hear it, at this link.
When I was a kid, I’d lay under our dining room table and read The New Yorker. For a kid in a small southern town, it felt like a missive from outer space. Just the reviews of restaurants and films were overwhelming. Cuisines I’d never heard of, independent movies that never, ever came to my state. The magazine showed me there was a larger world, and yet, oddly, because it was so very foreign, I never thought I’d possibly be a part of it. And I suppose that’s played out, in that I never had a dream to run off to NYC and try to make it. But having a poem in the magazine — well, that feels even more improbable. I laughed out loud when I got the acceptance, because it was so very bizarre and unexpected.