My poem, July 12, can be read in the newest issue of Tirage Monthly, here. I wrote it shortly after the attempted assassination of Malala Yousafzai, and it's a favorite among stuff I've written recently, so I'm really glad it found a home.
A month ago, I had little hope for my latest batch of poems finding homes in literary journals, but as I sit here typing this, three out of four of them have been taken by some great publications. I'm both thrilled and nervous to go back to my desk and put together another batch to begin sending out.
What's perplexing is that, of the four pieces, the lone poem left over from this group is the one I was most passionate about. And, while I could just write it off as a difference in taste between myself and, oh, every editor within a thousand miles of me who declined it, I'm coming to the realization this is simply one of those cases in which the passion you have for an idea isn't going to ensure a great project comes out of it.
Part of being a writer is having somewhat of an objective view of your limitations, and a difficulty I've had in the past has been accepting that I occasionally don't have the right skills to carry out one of my ideas. The last time this h…