The Sin of Being Okay, that’s the title of the most recent book of poetry by Dawn Leas, published by Kinsman Quarterly, and we’ll talk with Dawn about two of the poems from that collection and one she has chosen to share by Ada Limón. Dawn is also the author of A Person Worth Knowing (Foothills Publishing), Take Something When You Go (Winter Goose Publishing), and I Know When to Keep Quiet (Finishing Line Press). Her poetry has appeared in Literary Mama, The Pedestal Magazine, SWWIM, New York Quarterly, The Paterson Literary Review, Wild Roof Journal, and elsewhere. I’m David J. Bauman, your host, and your listening to a conversation In Three Poems. Poem 1: Written by Dawn Leas, and read by David J. Baquman "Trowel, Screen, Camera" I never wanted to be an archeologist. Until I met you. Wide-brim hat and hiking boots. Reach of the mid-summer sun long over the Rockies. Dust of dry season and sweat staining back of a linen shirt. Sleeves rolled up to my elbows. I crisscross time zones searching your history. Traipsing across topographies, I trowel Colorado sandstone. Sift soil through screens. I hike the mountains of North Carolina with a backpack full of supplies. Toggled metal bottle bounces off my hip with each step. Listening to “Rhymes and Reasons” on repeat, I collect artifacts. Your elementary school pictures. Home-movie footage of you learning to skip. The last page of a high-school essay about Bowie. Newspaper feature on your college band. A photo of you with long-hair, lips just a millimeter from mic. First page of your first screenplay. I dig and dig to learn who you are. Yes, I am writing another poem to teach you who I am. Poem 2: Written and read by Dawn Leas "Sin of Being Okay" A cadralor 1. You drew triangles, circles, squiggly lines in margins above math problems with purple pen, under reading notes. Teachers expected answers you couldn’t find outside the windows past the flat playground, horse farms and cow pastures, just the tip of your imagination. 2. He dreams in tie-dye each bright yellow flowing into pink, green, blue, orange. He sees dream you before real you teased hair, Rugby shirt three sizes too big. Real you rarely smiles, worry lines setting into forehead. But his voice reaches you, unfolds your mouth. 3. How you describe the color of water – blueberry, shallow as your grandmother’s eyes, violet like your cousin’s middle name, blue as a marble skittering across terrazzo in mid-summer sun. Muted trumpet in a city club. Your favorite pair of Levi’s decades old. A lover’s voice saying, I’m sorry. 4. Define sinoky – Sin of being okay. Collage of photos with faded edges. Lying naked in the woods. Late-spring snow. Gold star for breaking the rules. Crying during sex. A dream that can be let go. A period with hot flashes. Underwater sounds of an abandoned ocean. 5. From an early age you learned to be small could fit in a Jack-in-the-Box at the slightest raised voice, even brief eye contact, embarrassing hair out of place. Each person cranked – one click, two clicks, three. The tighter the turn, the tinier you became until the pop splintered your life. Poem 3: "Instructions on Not Giving Up," by Ada Limón, as published in her book The Carrying (Milkweed Editions, 2018). Our thanks to Ada Limón and Milkweed Editions for the use of the poem here on the podcast. Links: The Sin of Being Okay Other books by Dawn Leas "Instructions on Not Giving Up" by Ada Limón as published on Poets.org. Send us Fan Mail Support the show