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On “Two Women” and Process

Most of my poems begin with images. I am less interested in narrative; I prefer the strange, the weird: poetry that releases me from the daily, rational mind. “Two Women” began very simply with the image of two women staring fixedly at one another, and then the scene started to fill in, and the poem happened. In hindsight, I see I am the third woman in the poem looking in, and the women are the daguerreotype faces in my family’s old photo album: my pioneer ancestors.

I don’t really believe in inspiration for myself. I have to show up every morning and sit down at my desk at an ungodly hour before my nine-to-five job, or else nothing happens, and I slowly turn into a grumpy, numb individual. No other activity in my life fulfills and excites me as much as this odd work.