Hi all,
Sorry for being late(r than usual) sending this out. I was sick. Being sick is an interesting phenomenon these days, encompassing forced rest as we self-isolate to make sure we don’t make anyone else sick (and I offer gratitude that I could do this), and questioning whether we need to get a COVID test at each new symptom. I am feeling better now, happily, and ready to write a newsletter.
While I was sick a box arrived, a small cardboard box with the printers’ name on the label, and inside were the free copies of my book, coming to stores near you soon (see down below for where you can preorder if you’re so inclined).
The poems, which I thought I knew so well, seem very different in a book, in my hands, bound in a cover with my name on it.
Some of the poems were written many years ago, and so the book is a time capsule, containing a me from long ago. Without these poems I don’t think I would remember that me. Reading them now is riding a time machine, becoming for a moment that previous me again.
When I read the earliest poems, especially aloud, they help me love the person I was. I never thought publishing a book would be an experience in self-love, but reading these poems again all this time later helps me love the woman I was, helps me remember and honour her in all her angst and hidden glory. I can’t express how surprising and wonderful this has been.
FROM THE SPIRAL NOTEBOOK
Halloween wasn’t so long ago, so I feel this is an appropriate time for this piece, written to an imaginary lover.
A Few Last Words
Maybe with my ashes you could make a mud pie. Ash is quite fine; it would make a nice silky mud, light to dark grey. There would be bits of bone that didn’t burn completely. You might want to sieve those out before you add the water. Or you might prefer a more rustic pie, and leave them in.
I imagine your hands coated in the thin mud, a little on your cheek. You would be enjoying yourself a little—how long has it been since you made a mud pie?—but sad too. I want to tell you not to be sad, but that is unkind. Instead I’ll say what my therapist would: you are sad, and you are also having fun making a mud pie. Both can be true. You might want to look him up, my therapist. Good ones are hard to find and once I’m dead I don’t think he’ll see a conflict of interest.
I imagine you in old clothes—not black, alright? We’re agreed?—sitting cross-legged in the back yard by the tap, my opened urn beside you. You have a pie plate on the grass in front of you, the old one with the chip. Or maybe for the occasion you want to be fancy, use the springform pan. If you do, don’t let the mud get too wet or it will collapse when you open it. Maybe let it dry overnight first.
I imagine you shaking your head at how weird I was, giving you these kinds of final instructions, maybe wishing you’d fallen in love with someone other than a poet so your grief could be less ridiculous. But you would have left an accountant, someone normal. I’m telling you, you would have been bored out of your mind. And think of the story you’ll be able to tell after. No one will know whether to laugh in delight or be creeped out. Great bar conversation.
Once you’ve finished your pie, once it’s had time to dry out a little, but not too much or it will get crumbly, I want you to cut it. Use the silver-plated pie server with the ornate rose design on the handle, the one from my paternal grandmother. Slice the pie and then offer a piece to each of the trees in the backyard. And the rhodo; it’s really more of a bush, but I was always amazed by its beauty and how long it bloomed. Just put a piece of pie near the trunk of each tree—no need for a plate—and let the rain melt that piece of me into the earth.
It will be like scattering ashes, but with added whimsy. I always told you, if you dated me long enough you’d end up in a poem.
NOTES
In Canada, you can preorder Big Sky Falling at most bookstores or at Chapters/Indigo or Amazon.ca; in the US you can preorder at Barnes and Noble or Amazon.com. Canadians and Americans can also buy it direct from the publisher.
Please feel free to reply to this email, either by hitting reply (it will only go to me), or by commenting on the Substack website if you’d like to be part of a larger discussion.
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And thanks, as always, for reading.
Yours,
Kelsey
kelseyandrews.ca
Excited to get a copy of your book. Congratulations! It’s such a bit thing. And I love that it’s become an unexpected exercise in self-love. May we all be so lucky with our creative practice.
Just ordered a copy of your book! Looking so forward to holding it in my hands and reading it.
I love the idea of ashes pie.