HENS (and an Egg to Hatch)
a poem and a promise
I went to Las Vegas this past weekend for my close friend’s bachelorette party–AKA Hen Party. Being 5 months pregnant in Vegas was a trip. I was nervous, namely for upsetting my sleeping schedule and being super sober in a world I’d usually hold dominion over in my rapscallion ways. Alas!
It was actually so much fun being so sober.
And being square with my own needs for rest and moments of vibrancy as they came.
The combo bachelor/bachelorette operation was a hit. There were 11 of us, five women and six fellas. We would separate and come together again like little snakes weaving in and out of the chaotic Vegas bliss. On Saturday, we went to a pool party to dance it up with DJ Marshmello. Twerking with a baby bump is a cute vibe, tbh.
After naps and recoops, we gathered for a swanky dinner at Scarpetta in the Cosmopolitan before lounging for midnight cocktails at this 70s kitsch coke lounge called The Peppermill. Huge fan of that place. It was new to me and will most definitely be a regular stop when I ever get back there.
I sleepily sat with my jazzed-up friends, who’d been drinking all day and doing blow all night. They were adorable. Sipping martinis and going off about this book or that, what it is to love and lose love.
Barnaby told me the story about how he ended up being a Sake Sommelier. I told him about my love for creating art only to be experienced in real life (like the mural I am currently working on in my home).
He turned to me and asked, as a creative person, “Do you have any problems finishing things?”
“No… not really…Except for some things. This one thing comes to mind...I don’t know that it’s a problem finishing as much as me having missed its moment. I have this manuscript of poetry, but at this time in my life it feels so…separate from who and where I am now. It just…doesn’t represent me anymore. It doesn’t feel…like…me…and my work now. Or something. So, I guess it is looking like that will forever be unfinished.”
His bright blue eyes widened as he leaned forward, a lock of his dark brown hair cascading across his inspired brow (you’d think being so sober and tired around such a party train would be so annoying, but I actually found it all so precious. Maybe open-hearted people on drugs, gathering just to celebrate love and friendship, are just closer to my state of natural and preferred being than the averagely guarded pedestrian. I digress…).
“You should still publish it. Under a pseudonym. Maybe the poems aren’t helpful or relevant to you–anymore–but they will be to someone nine years behind you.” He looked at me calmly, absolutely confident and correct.
I nodded, sipping my pineapple juice/jalapeño/soda water mocktail.
Looking across the circle couch to the other side of Barnaby, I took in the darling, blonde book editor we’d been partying with all weekend. She was swaying ever-so-slightly with an evening bliss, her eyes perusing our group dynamic under the dim, shifting blue lights. Nicole. Spitting image of Kate Winslet in the 90s. A faux tree climbed the space behind her, holding up the ceiling.
Barnaby was right, and the presence of this gal whose brightness and book advocacy I’d been delighted by all weekend made me smile, leaning into the knowing of what I needed to do.
The universe has such a charming way of pushing us to make promises to ourselves and reminding us to keep them.
Then and there, I decided not to give up on this benched project. My poetry book. After so many chapters of almosts and never-minds, ideating and committing, here I go!
The seed has been (re)planted. I won’t rush it. I won’t put down any current plates I have spinning, but I won’t give up on it.
It feels pretty mortifying to revisit poems of mine from over a decade ago. To brush up something so dusty for publication. But, damn, if my artistic sensibilities have led me to any lesson at all, it is to always choose the risk of failure and embarrassment and looking like a fool in order to potentially make something great.
A hui ho,
Julia
cute photos and i cant wait to read the poems! i know they will be so powerful
Love how at home you look in your preggo body😌 what beautiful advice ~ I felt the same about my poetry book but thinking of the lightyears it could help others on their journey sounds encouraging 🙌🏾