Genre: Poetry

“In the end, I suppose, defeat is inevitable, / the closing of something once delicately propped / open,” writes Dawn Lundy Martin in her poem “From Which the Thing Is Made,” which appears in her collection Instructions for the Lovers, out today from Nightboat. With each line of the poem, Martin dives deeper into the connection between the narrator and their mother, and how her absence is still felt in the body of the narrator. “Even I can’t let go, can’t sift her being (that part / of her that’s her) from my hands,” writes Martin. This week, start a poem with Martin’s first line: “In the end, I suppose, defeat is inevitable…” What memories and imagery come to mind when you think of defeat or of something closing?

“We tend to treat odor in general as a sort of taboo,” writes Scott Sayare in a New York Times Magazine article about a woman who discovered she could smell Parkinson’s disease, in some cases over a dozen years before medical diagnosis. “Modern doctors are trained to diagnose by inspection, palpation, percussion and auscultation; ‘inhalation’ is not on the list, and social norms would discourage it if it were.” This week, focus your attention on your sense of smell as you go about your days, perhaps even ignoring social norms as you inhale all the odors around you. Then, write a poem that focuses solely, or primarily, on smell—perhaps juxtaposing scents that are in your everyday life now and those from a more distant past.