Any migration is forced

Poetry by Sara Fitzpatrick Comito

Month: October, 2013

The soul of brevity

bottles-87342_640Need I say more? That’s the work of poetry right there: knowing when to stand up at your desk, push back your chair and say “my job here is done.”
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Back to the beach

sand angelsAs the days get shorter, I start thinking about going outside again. It’s been hot, hot, hot! One long rain event from as far back as I can remember. It’s a type of reverse hibernation. In the hot, wet summer, I don’t want to be outside. Well, I DO, but I have a hard time with the conditions. My friends up north have started teasing me with photos of apple picking excursions. I love fall! But I love fall in Southwest Florida for different reasons. I get to tease my friends with photos of the beach!

It was a muse for those surfer bands from the 60s, and it’s a muse for me. I wrote a poem about it that I shoved in a drawer for a while. Then it appeared in the most unlikely place – DOGZPLOT! A place I never thought my work would show up because, guess what? I don’t write flash fiction. Not yet, anyway. Not successfully. Maybe someday. Unlikely! But not as unlikely as my work being in DOGZPLOT. My pre-teen son has a better chance of being there! Oh wait, he already was, a few years ago. It was a (religious) classroom paper collage that Peter Schwartz took a liking to. My son isn’t allowed to read the content, but his picture graced the virtual pages of that fine institution of all things flash.
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