Author: Tanita S. Davis

{pf: npm ’26 • poetry peeps engage the ekphrastic}

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April 24, 2026

12:28 pm

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Musings on Extemporanea, NPM, Part and Poetry, Poetry Friday, Seven Sisters, Sleeper Stories, What We Do, Who We Are

Welcome to another Poetry Friday Adventure!


Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to our poetry challenge for the month of MAY.

Here’s the scoop: we’re having a Poetry Potluck. In the spirit of sharing a plate of poetry together, we invite you to grab a form you like, season it to your taste, and share it with us and all of your Poetry Peeps – it’s a good time for all of us to remember what we’ve learned, and to celebrate. Are you in? Good! You’ll have the month to craft your creation and share it May 29th in a blog post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. We hope you’ll bring a dish!

From Process…

Happy National Poetry Month, Poetry Friends! Ekphrastic poetry is one of my favorite, favorite forms, simply because I am an avid photographer, using my phone far more often for its photo capabilities than its ability to connect me to anyone else. I have been mildly obsessed with Springtime in the garden of this house, as come May we’ll have been here for one year, and we’re still in the “discovery” phase. Did we know we had daffodils? Nope, not until they started showing up. Ditto for the hyacinths. Now I’ve found my new best love – bearded irises. I’m entranced.

…to Poetry

Today the Poetry Seven are also poem-ing in honor of a birthday! My NPM project is daily tricubes along with Very Bad Drawings (TM), but in the spirit of wanting to bring a gift to my friend, I’ll spare our birthday girl my artwork and share a recent garden snap instead. Happy Birthday to Sara Lewis Holmes, who is a bright spark, shining undiminished even in darkness – living aglow not “in spite of” but living into her Because. Farsee-er, questioner, somesuch-er, friend – may you continue to live all the days of your life. Love you, Sara.

iris awake

awaiting
its moment
through chill dark

comes beauty,
arriving
with the sun

breathtaking –
no shrinking
violet.

My Poetry Sisters are much more on top of things this month, engaging the ekphrastic in their own ways. Liz’s poem is here. Laura’s poem is here, Cousin Mary Lee’s is here, and Sara’s poem is here. Tricia’s poem is here, and Karen’s poem is here. Michelle K’s poem is here. Carol V’s poem is a puff of dandelion here, and Jill’s poem is here – welcome Jill! Margaret’s cypress poem is here. More Peeps may show up throughout the weekend, so don’t forget to check back to see their links rounded up here.

Our lovely hostess this Poetry Friday is Irene – and Emily Dickinson – so don’t miss stopping by for more poetry, and thank-you, Irene, for hosting.

In the chaos of life bursting into being, change insisting on its way, and finally a little sun, some things remain the same – unchanged despite our desire or efforts. Some things have also remained the same in spite of us – which is a bit of joy in the tangle. I hope this season reminds you to look for what is unfolding beautifully along with what is unfolding chaotically. Take deep breaths, and walk with measured steps. Life is change – and chaos – but I hope that today especially that you can be a calm in your own storm. Remember that you are well-loved.

{npm ’26 • 23}

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April 23, 2026

11:50 am

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NPM, Part and Poetry

Providentially, one of the very best purchases we made, just before the pandemic dropped, was a plug-and-play hot tub. Himself had been ill and had to take a leave of absence from work, and the whole thing – being sick and caretaking – was exhausting. We were living in a very vertical townhouse with all the modern conveniences, and a distinct lack of decent bathtubs (classy showers, though). After five years in Scotland, we are very DEFINITELY bathtub people, going so far, when we lived there, as to take baths in the old Turkish-style bath houses at the council (neighborhood) pool. Endless hot water and tubs six feet long and deep enough to drown in (people did laundry in them back in the 50’s, we were told) were amazing. Even better, the bathhouse was built in 1871 and some of the old tilework is gorgeous.

Bafflingly, I somehow grew up in a family who seemed to see baths as unnecessary. Hedonistic nonsense – my parents and siblings are showers all the way – but give me a good soak and a book and quiet. When we put the hot tub in the garage (yes, in the garage. I can’t control outdoors, I control indoors) it turned out to be one of our Best Things Ever.

Bathhouse

Prehistoric
kindling:
Fires beget

heated foot,
then hot drinks.
Interval

between spark
and hot baths?
Ephemeral.

{npm ’26 • 22}

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April 22, 2026

1:33 pm

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NPM, Part and Poetry, Soapbox

(NB:if you’re not in a good place mentally, please come visit tomorrow.)

Earlier this year, the local brew pub/movie theater in the next town over showed the Oscar-nominated short films. I didn’t check the listens carefully, merely going along with a friend (NEVER. AGAIN.), and we ended up seeing the year’s nominated documentary shorts. We went out expecting Pixar. We got inhumanity piled to infinity. Five films, but it took weeks to breathe past the shadow of their hollow grief.

One of the short films was called Were And Are Gone, about silent protestors in Tel Aviv protesting the genocide against Palestine by simply holding up the pictures of the twenty-five thousand children who had died with the words “Was And Is No More.” Though of course there was some thoughtful response, mostly it was brutal, to state it mildly, as the reality of the war was held up against the Tel-Avivian-on-the-street, whose indifference, abuse – psychological, verbal, and sometimes physical, as they were spit upon – and disgust at the protestors was…so hard to see. The film begins with the protestors working on posters, and then an air raid siren goes off, and still chit-chatting, they head casually to the cement reinforced stairwell of the apartment building. And there was just something so WWII about it – but something not. My temperament and my brain chemistry don’t allow me to stare into the Abyss frequently – it’s always looking back – but…sometimes I wonder how long. How long can we possibly go on like this. How long it will be allowed – by anyone.

Russia’s abuse of Ukraine has been going on, intermittently, since the Second World War, making it currently Europe’s longest running war. Israel has been trying to eradicate Palestine for nearly that long. Myanmar, Sudan, Pakistan, and now this foolish aggression against Iran. How. Freaking. Long.

Year…Fiftysomething of the War

Constantly
resounding,
the sirens

scream, “air raid!
disaster!”
At some point

panic palls.
The bombs fall
anyway.

{constant reader’s reads: a procrastination smörgåsbord}

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April 22, 2026

1:15 pm

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General Coolness, Small Fictions, Under Radar Reading Recommendations, What We Do

Dear TBR,

The book world is such a fun place, and people in their fandoms are crazy in a good way. Going out into that world sometimes is a good reminder of why we write, of who our readers are, and how awesome this whole job can be.

Of course, stories like Maggie Tokuda-Hall’s remind us of how NOT awesome it can be, but it’s usually publishers/politicians and not readers who are responsible for that…!

It’s been a good reading month, though busy; work is moving right along at a good clip. Hopefully I’ll eventually noodle through things in a timely fashion, but until then I’m procrastinating reading like mad.

THE RENAISSANCE OF GWEN HATHAWAY: RenFaire novels are a particular love for me; Jen DeLuca’s WELL MET series is a particular favorite of mine (and I’m hoping someday Grinnell Russian Lit professor Kelly Herold will someday finish her portal RenFaire novel which includes time travel and a lovely villain). I love Renaissance Faires more in theory than in practice, however, because they never feel like a place for people of color, celebrating, as they are, a mostly made-up history of a time which didn’t feature people of color. This novel does, however, have a Black girl in it as a love interest – AND there is size and queer representation, as Gwen is a fat heroine being wooed by Arthur, a thin and somewhat nerdy boy with two Dads. I love Arthur. I want to hug him and squeeze him and call him George. He made me cry by being awesome. Gwen is dealing with her first Renaissance Faire after her mother’s death, and is trying to take her place as the jewelry maker for the family’s stall. Her father, who, like her, is mostly non-communicative and not apt to try anything new, are really struggling, and the story of how they struggle through this year anniversary of the death of the bright and beating heart of their family is worth reading.

LUCY CLARK WILL NOT APOLOGIZE: Lucy Clark’s parents are absolutely insane. They are… self-help gurus, and nutters who – okay, only *I* think they’re nutters, but I’m not a huge fan of people who treat self-help like a new religion. ANYWAY. It’s mostly Lucy’s Dad who is very popular on the self-help circuit, and Lucy is basically neglected, sent to an absolutely hideous boarding school, and then when she gets into trouble, not only is her best friend withdrawn from the school, she is suspended and sent to one of her Dad’s protegees, who is supposed to be a positive influence on her. That person is supposed to find Lucy something to do that will turn her onto a new path. That new path comes in the form of being a companion to an elderly woman named Edith.

Rather than the awful-piled-on-awful task that Lucy fears, Edith turns out to be AMAZING, with an amazing best friend, fun and quirky inhabitants of the New York converted mansion in which they live, but there’s one small snag: Edith is convinced someone is trying to kill her. Convinced. Eventually, Lucy begins to believe that something is …up. But, who is trying to scare an old lady? And why?

This is a meandering mystery with a lot about being enough, about having self-esteem, about not apologizing for surviving and standing up for yourself. The boarding school and teacher are SERIOUSLY OTT awful, Lucy, though sixteen, is almost written as a middle grade student, her emotional inner life seems to be so simplified, and the denizens of Edith’s house seem to come straight out of a Ransom Riggs novel – they’re all so quirky as to not seem real. But, it’s a fun, slightly Gothic mystery nonetheless.

NIC BLAKE AND THE REMARKABLES: I couldn’t really review this novel until I’d had my moment interviewing the author — and while I made a point of not discussing spoilers then, I *really* want to avoid them now. Nic Blake is homeschooled, Black, and Gifted. REALLY Gifted — in a way that’s like magic, only stronger. (As the author says “Wands are evil in this book… take that the way you will.”) Nic’s family has an ancestral gift which manifests as power to do things. The people – her enslaved ancestors – could fly. They flew away from slavery and lived in a place called Uhura, which in Swahili means “freedom.” Nic doesn’t know much about the details, though. She’s never been to Uhura. She lives with her Dad, and the two of them move a lot. Most of the people they know are Unremarkables; ordinary humans without the Gift. The reason for that, and the reason her next-door neighbor can tell her new puppy is a Hellhound is part of a lot of other secrets and surprises are found as they put their all into doing something that feels impossible for a couple of kids — saving Nic’s father from a fate worse than jail.

Way back in the day, the Wizard With the Scar books were praised for hooking the reader with myriad New Things Per Page. The author has all of that going on, plus multi-layered bits of Black history, emotional resonance and themes of self-esteem, being “enough,” and using your God-given gifts, even if you aren’t particularly remarkable. This is going to be a very, very popular fantasy series.

WHISTLEBLOWER: I have a *lot* of mixed feelings about this indie book. I have a lot of mixed feelings about being a whistleblower, too, I guess. Sometimes knowing that Something Should Be Done about a thing, and actually setting out to do it are two very different things. In this New Adult novel, college student Laurel feels somewhat invisible and unmoored at her college. She’s made it onto the paper — but she’s basically coasting through life, showing up late, hung-over, or both, to almost everywhere. It’s …fun? But “fun” for a college junior is wearing a bit thin. It’s almost a relief to Laurel to get the story she’s pitched to the paper rejected — it’s the kind of story she figures the paper won’t really run with, because it’s based on hearsay, because she stayed out too late partying and couldn’t come up with anything stronger. She’s disgusted with herself for not taking herself seriously enough to do her best — but then, her story gets scooped by a stronger, sharper writer — and in a twist, that other girl gives her credit for the idea. Their editor decides that they both should investigate to uncover whether or not what they suspect is true. As it turns out, Something Rotten is happening at the college with the football coach, the man whose finger is on the pulse of so many futures. Laurel just wants to help the people he’s hurting, but the golden boy quarter back of the football team is baffled, hurt and infuriated. He swears the coach isn’t who Laurel thinks he is. Laurel swears otherwise. They set out to prove each other wrong – and of course catch feelings along the way. Suddenly it’s turned out that Laurel is a whistleblower — and she’s not sure that’s what she ever intended to be.

This story was a little scary to read, as I think the world is actually uglier than the way the author portrayed it and I worry when people downplay things. Young women get death threats these days from looking at someone wrong — I think the author deliberately brushed lightly over quite a few things which I felt were more serious. I also felt like Laurel drank way too much — and that’s my Old Lady coming out, I’m sure, but she didn’t seem safe enough to kick back and not have all her senses about her. The jocks and sycophants surrounding her were some nasty people and I kind of wish the author would have taken things more seriously — BUT, this was meant to be somewhat light and not erring on the side of too message-y. Did I like it? I’m not sure yet – a very mixed bag, but also interesting and thought-provoking.

Fresh onto the TBR:

  • Enter the Body, by Joy McCullough
  • Both Feet in the Grave, Jeanine Frost
  • The Secret Service of Tea and Treason, by India Holton
  • In Memoriam, by Alice Winn

        

Until the next book, 📖

Still A Constant Reader

{npm ’26 • 21}

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April 21, 2026

3:42 pm

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NPM, Part and Poetry, Sleeper Stories, Small Fictions


This morning in the bathroom, I realized that both the showers are glassed in, thus constituting “windows,” thus technically coming under my wholly arbitrary ‘windows’ poetry rule… And now you’ll be tormented with my “shower thoughts” for the rest of the month, you’re welcome.

So, I don’t know if it’s a Spring thing or if there’s some other denom-specific significant thing I’m missing, but the Presbyterians are having baby baptisms frequently these days. And each time a baby objects to the whole… thing, the parents look like they want to sink through the floor. And I just want to call down from the choir loft and say, “HEY! Tell them they’re doing great!” Because honestly? If a random smiley man said some stuff to me I didn’t understand and then caressed my nearly bald head with water which is probably at best tepid? You’d better believe I’d let him know my thoughts on the matter. Loudly.

(TANGENT: does anyone remember the water gun christenings and Easter …Holy Water spritzing of 2020? The babies were perhaps even more offended then [or just confused]). Mind you, I’m wholly and deliberately missing the point, but dang it, babies should react negatively at the wildly strange interaction that is infant baptism. It’s an important survival reflex. The kids are all right.

Early Displays of Common Sense

Prudently,
baptisms
involve tears.

An infant’s
instinctive
rejection:

NO STRANGERS
WITH WATER!!!
(Good job, kid.)

{npm ’26 • 20}

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April 20, 2026

11:10 am

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Mental Health, Mi Familia Loca, NPM, Part and Poetry, Sleeper Stories

This week we have arrived at the portion of the NPM celebration wherein I acknowledge that I will be so glad when it’s May. Not because I can’t write a daily poem – I can, and probably should. Not because I can’t draw a daily doodle, either, though these images are only just now becoming the shorter, quick-sketch thing they were meant to be from the beginning, with fewer attempts at a photo-realistic literal and more impressionistic and observational within a metaphorical window… but because I always (always, always) set myself some project expectation that I absolutely struggle to complete. While the poems are moving from externally observant and becoming more internal, I’m finding that the form is inhibiting me – though this was a deliberate choice. Tricubes are meant for brevity, after all, and this is a process to teach myself to lean into that – but it’s just… hard. Normally I use poetry to process. Often there’s more I want to say, but it feels like dwelling – and I’m not going to change forms, though I feel the desire. Additionally, I DO have other things to do…

swinging bridge

between now
and back then,
a crevasse:

dear parents,
leave something:
some kindness –

memories
of soft hands
as a bridge.

Poetic addendum: Saw family this weekend. People of color who experienced physical ‘correction’ have a number of people telling them that culturally this is ‘necessary’ or ‘just how it is,’ or any number nonsensical things. I think there’s a part of us that goes cold and doesn’t recover, and when the punishing parent is approaching their four-score and whatever, and you still don’t feel safe to be familiar with them… what has the ‘culture’ done? What have we normalized? What is the profit…?

hourglass
avalanche
forces hands –

we can’t hold
time’s passage:
sand’s slipping.

leave something –
in loving
memory.

I guess a double tricube could be a new form?

{constant reader’s reads: great graphics}

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April 20, 2026

5:14 am

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General Coolness, Sleeper Stories, Under Radar Reading Recommendations, What We Do

Dear TBR:

Today’s effortless Three On A Theme: She’s Reading report is brought to you by Girls Doin’ Stuff, and Finding Your Place and… graphic novel greatness.

UPROOTED, by Ruth Chan: Don’t you just love this cover? And, can we normalize authors writing their name in whatever languages they speak? The use of Chinese characters here is just so cool.

This is a great book to check off a whole host of Read Harder challenges – an Asian protagonist, a book with a non U.S. setting, and a memoir. Ruth Chan both wrote and illustrated this outstanding book.

Thirteen-year-old Ruth is filled with fear when her parents announce that they’re moving back to Hong Hong from her hometown from Toronto. Though Ruth is a Canadian citizen, it IS going “back” to Hong Kong – for her parents. They’re moving to the island for her father’s job, but Hong Kong is where Ruth’s mother is FROM. She’s over the moon to be going back, and Dad is excited about the benefits and security of the new job, but… Ruth, an only child who has been welded at the hip to her two best friends for years, is feeling uprooted, bereft, and lonely.

It’s hard not being Chinese enough for your Chinese family. Her Cantonese, only reluctantly spoken sometimes to begin with, is definitely not good enough for her cousins. And yikes – she’s not in middle school in Hong Kong – nope, she’s in high school type classes, and she has chemistry already. Academic rigor and a language barrier aside, Ruth is missing her father, who is often away over night for work trips, and her mother, who, living so close to every cousin, sister, and best friend she grew up with is often away for afternoon coffees, morning gym trips, and weekend shopping. Ruth has to do SOMETHING to find her feet. She clings to the stories her father tells her when he’s home – and somehow, hearing about how the family clung together and made it through some of the roughest times in history give her fresh determination to make it through.

I’ve been meaning to read all of Shannon Hale’s REAL FRIENDS series, and I’ve just realized that it, too is considered memoir – so we’re two for two! Sixth grade Shannon is really spending a lot of time thinking about of what it means to be a friend, what it means for her to fit in with her friends, and …how she fits. Or, IF she fits. After standing up for herself against a classroom bully and spending a summer with her first job, Shannon is sure sixth grade is going to be a breeze. After all, she’s now friends with both the oldest and the most well-known sixth grade girl. She’s going to be a queen of the school, and she and her friends will finally be on top of things. Of course… it’s middle school, so doesn’t actually turn out that way. Not only does this book detail Shannon’s continuing drama with the close circle of friends she’s known throughout elementary school, the book also explores her confused expectations as to what girls are allowed to and expected to do – weighted heavily with her mother’s input as shaped by the Church of Latter-day Saints – and her concerns about her marriageability. I had a rueful chuckle about this. By the age of eleven-twelve, roughly Shannon’s age through sixth grade and the beginning of seventh, as this book covers, I was outspoken in my desire not to marry, and told anyone who would listen that I was just going to do my own thing, live in my own house, read as much as I wanted, and ignore people. (IRONIC how this is still a theme for my life.) However, the adults around me brushed off my desire for independence from the traditional role I saw fulfilled around me, and rather than asking me why, or responding to my insistent disagreement with curiosity, they constantly told me, “Yes, you will” or, “You’ll change your mind.” Shannon timidly wonders if she’s ever going to be compatible with a man if none of the boys in her school like her… and she doesn’t know how to take being left behind when the girls around her pair off. She doesn’t think that’s what she wants… but, maybe she doesn’t know the right thing to want… That difficulty with deciding on her own opinion plagues Shannon as she tries vainly to keep up with the latest group, the latest movie, the latest TV shows and characters, all in an effort to not be left behind, out of step, or forgotten. The book also explores intrusive thoughts and acute anxiety, normalizing an experience that Shannon struggles with throughout the book. While it doesn’t end on a cliffhanger, I do find myself wondering how she will negotiate trying to keep up and fit in as she gets older. The book does end on a hopeful note, as Shannon refuses to let her tight circle of friends determine which elective she’s going to take or change the direction of her interests.

This book is both written and illustrated by Sarah Sax.

Viv Sullivan used to be plain old Olivia Vivian Sullivan – an unknown nerd intensely into her fandoms and her two best friends. She also used to hate picture day, because there were umpteen Olivias in her school, and nothing making her stand out from the rest. Forgettable in a way that makes her feel invisible, even changing her hair style for picture day is a battle she can’t win, as her mother insists on helping her with a “classic” french braid and making her a hand-knitted cardigan to war. When she sees a fellow student interviewing students about their cool outfit choices for her vlog, Viv is done with being overlooked. Her favorite vlogger talks about living their truth a lot, and so Viv decides that there has to be a truth better than the one everyone thinks they know about her. In the bathroom she cuts off her French braid, and her messy, choppy hair gets attention from everyone – including her mother, who is called to the school to pick her up. A stylist straightens the jagged edges a bit, but to Viv’s mother, the damage is done. For better or for worse, Viv’s out-there action has drawn attention. She’s now what she didn’t know she wanted to be – an influencer. Now all Viv wants to do is to KEEP that attention. She pushes for bigger and bigger actions from herself, and from her two best friends who… didn’t actually sign up for Viv’s style of truth living. When it all crashes – as it inevitably has to – Viv must decide a.) if she really wants to still be friends with her best friends, and b.) if there’s a line between living your truth and living a version of yourself that’s fictional and pretending it’s your truth.

This book surprised me a little; I felt like Viv’s brashness was tempered by how truly good at fulfilling the dreams of others, but as her attention-seeking escalates, I wondered if it was being driven by something more than her personality difference with her mother. I guess not every action stems from some deep place of hurt or whatnot, but it was difficult to feel like I really understood what brought Viv to where she was – but this is from the perspective of a person who has only ever met one person with her same name and whose greatest wish was to find her name on a gas station keychain. This book is the first in a series.

Fresh onto the TBR:

  • Somebody’s Daughter, Ashley Ford
  • The Friend Zone Experiment, Zen Cho
  • The Tribulations of Ross Young, Supernat PA, A.J. Sherwood

Reality is overrated – but books are more than escape. Sometimes, they’re a platform to stand on, high enough to help you see another point of view. Stay reading!

        

Until the next book, 📖

Still A Constant Reader

{npm ’26 • 18}

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April 18, 2026

3:38 pm

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NPM, Part and Poetry

I really adore the alligator lizards who, for whatever reason, really find a lot of enjoyment in hanging out looking at our windows… looking in and wondering how we can possibly spend so much time indoors, no doubt.

Mr. Darcy Returns

Revisit!
A small friend
came over –

Introduced
last summer,
he’s polite

mindfully
visiting
the neighbors.


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April 17, 2026

10:58 am

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NPM, Part and Poetry

Inevitable, that we begin to circle the idea of windows as having two sides – the ones we look out of, and the ones behind which we cannot see. I like how eyes are both useful to see things, and useful to see things from only the point of view of the watcher – a view defined and interpreted myriad ways.

look

called “windows
of the soul,”
perspective

imagines
internal
narratives –

life observed,
translated,
redefined.