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Even in This Dystopian Nightmare, We Can’t Afford to Forget All the Useless Beauty of the World
In fact, I suspect that’s how we got here in the first place…
I went to the library today to pick up a book of poems that I’d recently put on hold.
What a strange thing to write. When was the last time I read a book of poetry? When was the last time I went to the library?
It’s been a while for both. Over a year since I was at the library. In fact, I was honestly surprised that my library card was still in my wallet.
And I have no idea when I last read poetry. Knowing me, it hasn’t been a terribly long time…but long enough that I can’t remember.
The book I checked out was Lord of the Butterflies by Andrea Gibson.
I’ve been following Gibson on Instagram for a while now. As soon as I encountered their work, it made something inside me slow down. And for just a moment, everything in life felt okay.
If you don’t know Gibson, I have no idea how to describe them. I could say things that are scattered throughout bios and websites (queer, poet laureate, writer, spoken-work performer, navigating cancer and Lyme disease), but it doesn’t feel like enough, somehow. Even as I lean on labels in my own bios…
