So here’s something I’ve wondering—do you ever wake up and feel you should be happy, but melancholy feels like a heavy blanket someone keeps putting on your shoulders? That’s how I’ve been feeling lately, besides all the beauty around me—I’m thinking springtime birds, cherry blossoms in bloom, sunshine, so much we decided to skip going into the Two Sylvias Press office this week and instead are working from home. But to look at one’s life and feel SO grateful and thankful for all you have, but then also kind of sad.
I’ve carried this feeling a lot throughout my life (it’s come and gone and returned) and I know with the state of our country, things are feeling a bit harder everywhere. So there’s that. . .unfortunately. (Also, promoting a book at that time feels beyond ridiculous.) I’ve found planting stargazer lilies feels hopeful. I’m learning how much of my hope is tied to plants, maybe because they are a quiet insistence that something is growing despite our human world. Maybe it’s the agreement a seed makes with the future—possibility, it whispers.
Last week I met with two good friends and one said she believes things will get better, but first they have to break open before they can be repaired. And I’m like, Great, love that for us—but is there an express lane to the healing part? I’m so impatient these days and just like with movies, I want to fast forward past the bad/scary parts. But time, right? We have to day-by-day it with our fingers crossed and hope in our back pocket.
I think that’s why I’ve been writing more—writing has always helped me, even writing these little letters to you. I found myself writing a lot of prose poems too, I think because they feel as if I can get all the stuffs in there. I’ve been waking up, putting on “Goodbye Stranger” by Supertramp (wait, maybe this is why I’m sad, that song has lots of minor notes!). Also, please don’t think these poems are good—there are many many many really bad ones, but it feels good to be writing.
How are you getting by these days? I hope you’re finding ways to get through things. I just read forest walks are good for anxiety, but I’m guessing if you’ve ever walked in a forest (without being lost), you know that already. 😉
Anyway, I just wanted to send this note, this postcard, in case you are looking at your life right now and seeing rationally all the things to be grateful for, but you’re still feeling down—you are not alone. Not one bit.
So yes, I’m finding scattered joy all around me—burgers & bingo with neighbors, a brunch in an old Victorian building, walking through downtown Seattle to my favorite bookstore, Open Books. But it’s like my emotions are birds—look at all that happiness fluttering around me, but nothing seems to land.
Still, I keep leaving the windows open for hope—one of these days I have to trust that something will stay long enough to build a nest. Hope is the thing with feathers…as dear Emily Dickinson wrote.
I saw The Devil Wears Prada 2—it was two hours and I was entertained! (I usually have a 90-minute limit on my movies because I have commitment issues, lol.)
This is only half the space; there’s a whole group to the left (sorry, not to get you!).
Happy Weekend! I’m back from the New Orleans Poetry Festival, where I taught a surrealist poetry class with poet and librettist Melissa Studdard. We were the last class, which made me a little worried because I thought everyone might be tired and thinking about midday snacks & drinks—however, I was so wrong! What a joy to be overfilled with people—two rooms, all chairs taken, and people on the floor—all writing surreal poems. It made me realize that even with everything in the world, people still want to create something, to write poems, to be in community. I needed that reminder.
Melissa and I also did a little photoshoot for our poetry series, Poems You Need, and I, of course, wore the wrong shoes and sliced my foot (this should be no surprise to anyone who knows me—I always wear the wrong shoes).
The problem was—we had no tissues to stop the blood; it was just me, bleeding onto my discount Italian flip-flops and the sidewalk like a very low-budget horror film. Our photographer, who turned out to be a quick-thinking hero, pulled out a tiny white baby sock (clean! her son’s!) she’d been using as a lens cover and saved the day. (And yes, I was fine, no stitches, just alcohol, Neosporin, and a very tight bandaid!)
I won’t share photos of that, but I will share a favorite photo below. The one where I’m trying to get an author photo but I’m photobombed (photoboned?) by a dog who looks like he might be judging my shoe choice. Fair enough. . .he was a sweet pup. 💙
Of course, here’s the thing I keep learning again and again—nothing is ever just one thing. I keep realizing how much we live in the world of and/also. Yes, it was an inspiring festival and also my 92-year-old mom got a bad flu, fell, hit her head, and landed in the hospital. Yes, my book comes out in two weeks, and yes, I am on hold with Medicaid while purchasing her a walker online. Yes, there is joy, but there is also exhaustion. And yes, the world keeps handing us too much, and also we hold hands with joy when we can. (By the way, as of right now, my mum looks to be going home Monday. 🤞)
So how do we keep going?
Last time I suggested poetry and cookies. This time, I’ll suggest: we keep going by making small offerings—writing the poem, sending the text, saying hello to a stranger, calling a friend, calling our congressperson, showing up as best we can, even if we’re limping a little, even if we’re wearing a baby sock over our wounds. And maybe sometimes, we keep going by asking for a little help. (You can do that if you need to, you can also rest and stay home—that is okay too!)
Speaking of small changes making things better—I recently saw on Instagram and it stuck with me, as right now we’re in the past shaping our future:
The Importance of Preorders: A Memoir
We celebrated early copies of Accidental Devotions in NOLA!
Speaking of small things, I learned something yesterday I did not know, despite publishing my first book in 2003, I somehow did not know how much book preorders matter—like, really matter. Did you know this?
I learned that apparently, the more preorders a book has, the more likely it is to end up in actual bookstores on the actual shelves—whhaaaat? Was I just floating around in a cloud singing “la-la-la I write poems and hope for the best”? (Yes. Probably yes.) So if you’re an author or poet, know that your preorders do matter—no matter where the preorder happens. (Of course, we can’t build our life around worrying about book sales because that’s a great way to just feel bad about ourselves—but it’s good to know as an author because until this year, I’ve never really even suggested preordering, I’ve mostly waited until the book is out!)
ALSO—if you do preorder and want a signed bookplate, just reply to this email or write me at kelli@agodon.com with your snailmail address and I will happily send you one with a sweet thank you note as well…I mean, as my poem says—
Other Good Things:
Poet, Author, and Friend, Maggie Smith on the Washington State Ferry
Susan Rich Poet and I had a wonderful visit with Maggie Smith, when she came to Seattle last month. We ate at the Pike Place Market, rode the ferry to Bainbridge Island, and had wonderful conversations. And while Maggie’s book, A Suit or a Suitcase, is no longer preorder, it is available and is wonderful!
Photo 1: Howard at the launch. Photo 2: The launch taken by my friend, Susie. Photo 3: Me visiting Howard at NASA in 2015. Photo 4: Me, Susie, Rajy, & Howard on the Ave in Seattle on the way to a Husky Game in the early 90s.
I’m so proud of my childhood friend, Howard Hu, who led the design, development, production, and operations of Orion for NASA’s Artemis II mission to the moon. I was invited as a special guest to attend the launch in Florida—which feels surreal to say—but I needed to stay a little closer to home because of my mum. Two of my good friends from high school were able to go though and witness in-person, a true once-in-a-lifetime moment. I watched from my laptop in my car, heart in my throat, thinking about how something we once only imagined—moon missions, space travel, all that wonder—is still happening. Oh, and I have a poem to Howard wayback in my very first book in 2004, which is out of print, so I’ll share it with you here:
I recently learned about The Poetry Shop, a new online indie poetry bookstore started in November 2025, run by poet Katie Temple and her spouse Dave (you can read their story here). Since the pandemic, many of us have been buying books online & poetry sections (sadly) seem to be shrinking in real-life indie bookstores, so it feels meaningful to discover an indie online space created just for poetry and poets. ✨
As you may know, for the first round of preorders, I partnered with the wonderful Open Books: A Poem Emporium in Seattle—and for those of you who ordered through them—thank you!—I’ll be taking the ferry over next week to inscribe your books (which feels like its own small, lovely pilgrimage). But for this final round of preorders (my book comes out May 12th!), I’m partnering with The Poetry Shop as a way to help keep supporting individuals and gently push book sales away from billionaires and big corporations. They shared with me that I’ll receive a small portion of the proceeds at no extra cost to you, to which I’ll be donating back to organizations like Lambda Literary, Cave Canem, Copper Canyon Press, the Emily Dickinson House, etc. Many of these organizations have lost funding this year, and this feels like one small way I can help support the literary community that has given so much to all of us.
ALSO—if you’re a poet and your book ISN’T listed on The Poetry Shopyet, they can add it—they make the process pretty straightforward. I believe the main requirement is that your book is distributed through Ingram. Just check out their Instagram below and feel free to follow them:
The Poetry Shop on Instagram: "There would be no Poetry Shop wi…
So that’s it for now. I hope this finds you in good shoes and waltzing into the small miracles of spring. Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading, for your joy, for your notes and emails and support, and for keeping me company on this strange and beautiful spinning planet—the images from Artemis II remind me that from up there, the borders we argue over don’t exist—all those invisible lines we keep insisting on while the earth just keeps being whole.
Here’s one of my favorite images from the mission, it makes me cry (and I’m not even in an airplane right now):
NASA astronaut and Artemis II mission specialist Christina Koch looks back at Earth during the Artemis II mission, shortly after launch, 2 April 2026. Credit: NASA
Happy Spring! If all else fails, follow the blossoms—they seem to know what they’re doing. 🌸
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