In the morning, thank you, thank you
In the evening, thank you, thank you
In the middle of the day, thank you, thank you
In the deep dark night, thank you, thank you
Yeah, I’ll second that. The words are from the Sara Thomsen song “Rhapsody of Rest,” but more specifically, they were sung by my sister a few days ago at – can you believe? – the third annual Bob’s Rhubarb Lounge event, a mélange of poetry and music, stained glass and vulnerability.
Let me prance and jump around like a four-year-old for a moment. This happens at my house. I participate in it – I read poetry and add to the mix. But so many people participate in making it happen that I feel myself pushed beyond my own ego, beyond my sense of singularity. As a writer, I am embedded in the belief that I work alone. And I do work alone; we all do, to some extent. And some people become the ones who get singled out as cultural bastions, as though that’s the primary point: to be celebrated, to become famous individuals.
