the better place

in:
beach corvids.

I read two books and I only left the apartment long enough to get food – a chain pizza one day, a lobster roll that made me violently ill the next – and spent the rest of my time roasting on the beach or working on a chapbook on my balcony. I got more work done in three days than I have in the seven years I’ve been back home.

I was here when I got the notification I’d been accepted into a grad program nearly ten years ago. It felt almost meaningful – like part of a pattern that made a goofy kind of sense – to just sit down at a table and write and revise for hours, speaking to no one, Top Chef reruns playing quietly in the next room.