I hate starting poems with I, I say inside my head.
While I understood her suggestion to flip into first-person — it’s less distant, less abstract, less … less —
I don’t want to go where she thinks I do — hauling me from my spot on the sofa, my hot toddy dashed from my hand, my soft fleece snatched away, and she’s stripped me of the crocheted sweater that goes with everything
oh she’s cold — and now I’m colder, and she’s right — and she’s wrong —
this is the thing about our work, — it will contain as much I as we jot
my guess is, you’d rather I not write of myself — don’t we all prefer to learn about the dog curled by the fireplace, drink in that warm image, than fill another’s eye with so much me?
Pamela Hobart Carter loves Seattle as much for its water and mountains as for its bustle and creativity. She explores the Emerald City daily while walking her dog. Carter used to be a teacher who wrote on the side. Now she is a writer who teaches on the side.