hi jennifer i am so glad i got around to reading this piece. the staircase formatting is doing real work here 🫧 like the words are literally descending the page the way ink travels down paper. form mirroring content. obsessed.
and "a page's pulse / is forged" ?? that closing hit landed. the whole piece treats writing like resurrection and i am here for it 🪼
the cascading indents give it this breathing quality too. like each line earns the next one's arrival. gorgeous pacing throughout 📯
Jennifer! I'm so glad you found my note and decided to share. This is lovely, lovely work—one of those rare pieces that leads to an instant subscribe for me.
Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I read this as almost a "material genealogy" metapoem. First stanza is the "origin story" of ink, second the transformation of the forest, and third the paradox in the power of the word. And ultimately, what I think you're revealing is that writing is the forest speaking after death, which is a really freaking cool and original concept.
You have a clear mastery of visual form and lineation. Staggered indentation is absolutely gorgeous to look at, and the cascading indentation mimics a lot of the images you present or imply: ink drips on a page, sap descending through wood, a brush stroke. You've visually enacted flow to accompany a piece that is talking about flow. That staggered structure also functioned to slow my reading so that each indent creates this nice, naturally soft, spatial emphasis.
You write with beautiful musicality. Second stanza was especially singing to me with all the s, z, and soft c sibilance.
Metaphors are just as rich. Ink is liquid life. Paper is transformed forest. Pulp is such an intelligent word to use here and I took it almost as a triple entendre. Pulp is literally what paper is made from. In sensory terms, evocative of flesh, fruit, softness. But also a result of crushing/destroying. The violent component of the process you describe.
Ugh, there is so much more I want to tell you that I love about this piece, but I am tiring. Thank you so much for sharing, and I am overjoyed to be connected.
I love layered metaphors and get really excited with a piece when I feel I've successfully achieved that. I tried to pack so much into this tiny poem and you definitely nailed the more complicated side.
I'm also rather silly at times and I hid a little inside joke in this one: a paper cut. Can you see it? Writing: bleeding across a page - literally here. Pain: a source of beauty. Words/art: alive through this process.
Gossamer is also a word meaning delicate and I wanted to juxtapose that showing how it can still cut.
Thank you so much for your lovely comment and insight. It will help hold me to a higher standard with what I push out in posts. I wish I could share some of the newest pieces in my arsenal, but I am waiting on submission rejections (tongue-in-cheek here).
I found it ;) and I would say it falls more in the category of clever than silly!
& don’t ever apologize for that! I share the bottom 25% of what I write here—the best goes down the manuscript/journal submission assembly line. More writers on Substack need to think like you.
Please don’t ever hesitate to reach out directly if you have pieces you want to share or just want to talk shop. I’m thoroughly impressed!
This poem earns its delicacy through craft rather than softness. The opening alchemy of ink and pressed pine establishes a material origin that carries moral weight, so that the later movement into wound and page feels earned rather than ornamental. I admire how “gossamer” is resisted as mere prettiness and instead made tensile, something capable of pressure, incision, and pulse. The poem keeps faith with process, with fibre and friction, and lets transformation remain physical. The final lines hold a quiet authority, where damage and making coexist without sentimentality.
There’s nothing like a poem about writing poetry. I think this is lovely in every way, thank you so much for sharing! Every word is perfectly placed and you’re saying just the right amount.
Thank you! 💞 Writing about writing is one of my break the block hacks. It’s a useful way to take back control when a blank page begins to feel overwhelming.
hi jennifer i am so glad i got around to reading this piece. the staircase formatting is doing real work here 🫧 like the words are literally descending the page the way ink travels down paper. form mirroring content. obsessed.
and "a page's pulse / is forged" ?? that closing hit landed. the whole piece treats writing like resurrection and i am here for it 🪼
the cascading indents give it this breathing quality too. like each line earns the next one's arrival. gorgeous pacing throughout 📯
I’m so glad you enjoyed it!
Jennifer! I'm so glad you found my note and decided to share. This is lovely, lovely work—one of those rare pieces that leads to an instant subscribe for me.
Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I read this as almost a "material genealogy" metapoem. First stanza is the "origin story" of ink, second the transformation of the forest, and third the paradox in the power of the word. And ultimately, what I think you're revealing is that writing is the forest speaking after death, which is a really freaking cool and original concept.
You have a clear mastery of visual form and lineation. Staggered indentation is absolutely gorgeous to look at, and the cascading indentation mimics a lot of the images you present or imply: ink drips on a page, sap descending through wood, a brush stroke. You've visually enacted flow to accompany a piece that is talking about flow. That staggered structure also functioned to slow my reading so that each indent creates this nice, naturally soft, spatial emphasis.
You write with beautiful musicality. Second stanza was especially singing to me with all the s, z, and soft c sibilance.
Metaphors are just as rich. Ink is liquid life. Paper is transformed forest. Pulp is such an intelligent word to use here and I took it almost as a triple entendre. Pulp is literally what paper is made from. In sensory terms, evocative of flesh, fruit, softness. But also a result of crushing/destroying. The violent component of the process you describe.
Ugh, there is so much more I want to tell you that I love about this piece, but I am tiring. Thank you so much for sharing, and I am overjoyed to be connected.
I love layered metaphors and get really excited with a piece when I feel I've successfully achieved that. I tried to pack so much into this tiny poem and you definitely nailed the more complicated side.
I'm also rather silly at times and I hid a little inside joke in this one: a paper cut. Can you see it? Writing: bleeding across a page - literally here. Pain: a source of beauty. Words/art: alive through this process.
Gossamer is also a word meaning delicate and I wanted to juxtapose that showing how it can still cut.
Thank you so much for your lovely comment and insight. It will help hold me to a higher standard with what I push out in posts. I wish I could share some of the newest pieces in my arsenal, but I am waiting on submission rejections (tongue-in-cheek here).
I found it ;) and I would say it falls more in the category of clever than silly!
& don’t ever apologize for that! I share the bottom 25% of what I write here—the best goes down the manuscript/journal submission assembly line. More writers on Substack need to think like you.
Please don’t ever hesitate to reach out directly if you have pieces you want to share or just want to talk shop. I’m thoroughly impressed!
This poem earns its delicacy through craft rather than softness. The opening alchemy of ink and pressed pine establishes a material origin that carries moral weight, so that the later movement into wound and page feels earned rather than ornamental. I admire how “gossamer” is resisted as mere prettiness and instead made tensile, something capable of pressure, incision, and pulse. The poem keeps faith with process, with fibre and friction, and lets transformation remain physical. The final lines hold a quiet authority, where damage and making coexist without sentimentality.
You've captured the intention behind this piece perfectly. Thank you so much.
There’s nothing like a poem about writing poetry. I think this is lovely in every way, thank you so much for sharing! Every word is perfectly placed and you’re saying just the right amount.
Thank you! 💞 Writing about writing is one of my break the block hacks. It’s a useful way to take back control when a blank page begins to feel overwhelming.