I just found this photo I used to have slipped into the cover of the notebook I carried around for about a year about a decade ago. It’s from the September 3, 2001 New Yorker & I liked having it on the table in workshop. I still love how the space between their mouths feels like the energy at the end of a line in a poem, that kind of bounce of the white space, something about how their bottom lips touch but their top lips have this very activated space between them, all the ways it seems symmetrical, but isn’t.
It seems weird that I’m just now noticing the connection with a poem I wrote around that time, which was inspired by being in Selina Trieff’s studio while she was on phone call, and she just kept saying Yes in various ways.
I was, myself, working on saying Yes in various ways, at that time, and so later that month when I found myself driving to Virginia with my dog, I spent about the last two hours of the trip saying Yes in different accents, volumes, and speeds. I’m not sure what Jingo must have thought about this, but it eventually led to this poem, which started out left justified, and then at some point started to take on its present form. And I also noticed tonight that maybe there is something of this horse blaze in there too.