Even with the Michigan October weather
so wet, I felt somewhat sere inside like
Phoenix in September, until I read a poet’s
explanation of a poem of his and the poet
wrote that the poem happened because he
was having a “poem-y” moment. In that
moment I chuckled, even though I probably
shouldn’t stereotype, as I heard the echo
of my dearly loved gay relative and then
I discovered that I was having this “poem-y”
moment.