Hi Friend, Happy 5th of July! My favorite day of the year because it means the fireworks (one of my least favorite things) are over. I was a bit startled when I sat down to write you and realized how many weeks have been paddleboarded away since I last wrote. It feels as if time has hit the gas and suddenly we’re George Jetsoning into the future yelling, Jane, stop this crazy thing! Since I last wrote, I’ve done several readings and Zoom events for Accidental Devotions, and you know what? I’ve genuinely loved them, which has surprised no one except me. But yes, it seems I do like seeing people and talking about poems. Imagine! I was nervous about ushering this book into the world. It felt a little like handing someone my heart and hoping they’d handle it with care. But the response has been so generous that I keep finding myself quietly stunned and deeply grateful. Thank you to everyone who has read it and/or reached out or let me know a poem found you. I’m just so appreciative. Today I did an interview with Lois P. Jones for her wonderful podcast The Title Drop and she said how open these poems feel. I think that’s because with this book, I trusted the reader with more: more uncertainty and spirituality, more joy, grief, humor, desire, more of the questions I’ve carried quietly. And I think that’s the best advice I can give any poet or writer—write openly with the belief your reader will “get you.” We can’t control how a book will be received. But we can make the thing with care, release it into the world and trust it finds the people who need it. And mostly, we’ll have no idea if that’s happening...and yet, we write. I think that’s a hopeful act. Speaking of hope—we had a beautiful conversation last night that basically amounted to this: we can still have hope for the future, even when the present feels like a Fourth of July parade waving tiny flags in front of our burning yards. So last night we decided to celebrate the America we want to help create: one that is inclusive and compassionate, and actually invested in the lives of its people. We want an America that uses its resources to help humans, not just to enrich a select few or fund giant monuments to one man’s ginormous ego. We want more love, more light, more belonging. And we celebrated the America we love too: our national parks, the ACLU, libraries, teachers, artists, mutual aid groups, journalists, poets, park rangers, nurses, election workers, public defenders, volunteers, immigration attorneys working pro bono, neighbors who show up with snacks/champagne or protest signs or both. We celebrated the people who remind us that a country is not only its leaders. It is also the hands that plant trees and gardens, pass laws, stock food banks, protect strangers, teach children, make art, tell the truth, and refuse to give up. And maybe for me, that is where hope lives right now. Not in pretending everything is fine or hanging patriotic bunting over a falling-down house. But in the daily decision to keep making the world more livable, more tender. I think to love a country is not to look away from what is broken, it is to say: I know we can be better than this, and we are still here, trying. A Few Small Devotions for You π
So I hope your 4th was beautiful and exactly what you wanted. And if you’re reading this from another part of the world, I hope your day offered you some small kindness too. We are all in this together. May we continue to hold each other up even if everything around us is falling down. Keeping a vision for a better world… π xo kells πWhere to find me: Facebook, Instagram, listening to Chicago sing “Saturday in the Park.” Will you help him change the world. Can you dig it? (Yes, I can). ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ If Accidental Devotions found its way to you and you enjoyed it, I’d be so grateful if you left a rating or review on Goodreads or Amazon. A handful stars tossed gently into the algorithmic pond can help the book find more readers. Thank you! This post is public—feel free to share it with a friend, another poet, or any devoted reader. π Thanks for reading Postcards from a Poet, a joyfully unpredictable newsletter with surprisingly good timing and that will always be free. ⭐ It’s not too late to order Accidental Devotions from The Poetry Shop: www.tinyurl.com/OrderAccidentalDevotions (and if you do—drop your snailmail address to kelli (at) agodon (dot) com and I’ll inscribe a bookplate for you.) ⭐ or Seattle’s Open Books: www.tinyurl.com/AccidentalDevotions (signed copies available!) Also—Bookshop.org: https://tinyurl.com/AccidentalDevotionsBookshopOrg or Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/AccidentalDevotionsAmazon Thanks for reading Postcards from a Poet!
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Visual Gratitude Journal
An online journal of images that make me smile, think, wonder, or just be thankful...
Sunday, July 5, 2026
Fireworks Are Over, Hope Is Not. . .
Tuesday, May 26, 2026
Terry Gross Wants to Interview Me! and Other Things AI Made Up
Terry Gross Wants to Interview Me! and Other Things AI Made UpDeleting Apps, Forgetting Willpower, & Finding What is Real in a Faux World
Hi friend, If you’re a writer, you’ve probably received a slew of these AI emails where someone wants you for their book group, their podcast, to give a keynote speech, wants to share your book with their important community, and so on. So I wasn’t exactly surprised to open my inbox today and learn that Terry Gross from NPR wanted to interview me about Accidental Devotions. My first thought was: What?! Maybe all the famous people are busy. My second thought was: This is fake. Of course, it wasn’t Terry Gross, just some weird little bot that knows how to play to your ego with words like “luminous” and phrases like “What makes the book especially compelling is the way it balances humor and existential seriousness.” I mean, the bot does get me and my book, but dude, stay out of my inbox. . . I kind of hate living in a world where I can’t tell what’s real anymore. I feel like I’m suspicious of everything, texting my 25-year-old a cute animal photo, “Please say this is real?” It’s AI, mom. Damn! Tricked again! It’s made me think about the last time I was less connected online but still got some of the benefits of the online world, maybe the last time I had the internet, but the internet didn’t have me. I think it was the ’90s, when I had a computer, but it had its own room: the second bedroom in my first home, “the computer room.” I’m beginning to think computer rooms should make a comeback. So I started thinking about my relationship to devices, which is a big theme in Accidental Devotions: how the things we keep reaching for can quietly (and unintentionally) become the things we worship. Then I bumped into this photo from 2022, and it really hit me. Look at everyone holding up their phones, watching a real experience through a screen, except this guy: I immediately thought—I want to be the guy with the beer. Okay, except without beer because I hate beer, but you get the idea. I want to be the me that used to watch things without having to document them or hold a phone just “in case.” I may have mentioned that I have a love/hate relationship with my phone, mostly because I know myself around digital things. I was the teenager who could burn through her entire allowance in quarters at Seattle’s Space Port, feeding video games quarters like they were glowing hungry gods (they were!) So my iPhone ends up being a fun little toy. And yes, social media feels like a game: How many “Likes” did this get? What happens if I post this cat photo instead of that one? Why did that post take off while this one died quietly in a field? And then, before I know it, I’m not enjoying the interaction—I’m checking the score. And the kicker is as a Capricorn—I hate wasting time, so when I look up and see I was scrolling on my phone for 30 minutes, I am not pleased with my use of my one wild and precious life—to quote Mary Oliver. Also, I hate using an iPad. I know some people love their iPads, but I feel like I’m typing on a giant Speak & Spell from the ’80s: Second, I bought this off of Etsy, it’s a phone holder (I know—clever, right?) to put near the front door so when I come home, my phone has a place to go that’s not my hand. (Oh and you can mount it on the wall too.) Basically, I want my phone to be a phone again. Not a camera, a wallet, a TV, a portal, a tiny container of bad-news-Russian-roulette-style, or a dumb little rectangle I stare into whenever I feel any moment of boredom. I want to go back to Me 1.0, before the upgrade with devices and apps. I guess I want to be easier to reach as a person and harder to reach as a consumer. I want to pull out a book on the ferry instead of my phone. I want to go back to the version of myself who could stand in line and observe the world around her, not have to summon a tiny imitation of life in her hand—sorry, iPhone, you do have some great usefulness, but I’m getting lost in your endless hallway of tiny doors with all those shiny doorknobs. So far (and it hasn’t been long with this new practice), I’m already seeing myself become less impatient. And to be fine with being well, bored. What a gift, my mind is daydreaming, looking at all the details around me, noticing things (remember when I noticed things!) It reminds me of something I felt in New Orleans—people seemed more willing to wait and let the day take its good ol’ sweet old time (there’s a reason they call it the Big Easy). Oh, and I also cleaned out my closet—something I said I didn’t have time for. I’ve also learned that willpower is way overrated, especially when you’re tired, overwhelmed, or simply a human person living in 2026. What works better for me is making my bad habits slightly more inconvenient—give me a bit of an obstacle and it seems I may actually choose my whole real life, already in progress. Anyway, if you’re thinking about your own habits, phone or otherwise, my best suggestion is this: don’t rely on becoming a better version of yourself, just make the thing you’re trying not to touch, eat, drink, scroll, buy, or do a little harder to get to. Put the “thing” in another room, delete the app, block the website, move the Biscoff cookies to a high shelf (okay, this is a dumb example as I know I’d just get a little chair to get the cookies—let’s make this don’t buy the cookies!) It’s amazing how quickly the body will go looking for something easier. Like reading a book or staring out the window. Or in a truly shocking turn of events—writing a poem! π Reader, it’s happened! A Few Small Devotions for You:
So thanks for reading and hope you walk out into the world finding the minor miracles happening in your part of the world. xo kells πWhere to find me: Facebook, Instagram, Watching: What About Bob “Babysteps to the elevator.” This post is public—feel free to share it with a friend, another poet, or any devoted reader. π Thanks for reading Postcards from a Poet, a joyfully unpredictable newsletter with surprisingly good timing and that will always be free. ⭐ It’s not too late to order Accidental Devotions from The Poetry Shop: www.tinyurl.com/OrderAccidentalDevotions ⭐ or Seattle’s Open Books: www.tinyurl.com/AccidentalDevotions (signed copies available!) Also—Bookshop.org: https://tinyurl.com/AccidentalDevotionsBookshopOrg or Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/AccidentalDevotionsAmazon Thanks for reading Postcards from a Poet!
© 2026 Kelli Russell Agodon |
















