I imagine riding a ghost-stallion, my hair in braids, pinned on top on my head, just like it was when I was seven, and sitting on the school bus, with yellow ribbon-bows on a comb, tucked under the braids to make a little crown.
I imagine that on the Ghost Ranch I will meet the Bluemoon Cowboy, his silver-toed boots, glinting under my bed. Read me a story. Read me one with poetry. Please.
Rather than highlight a specific poem, poet, reading, or series this week, I want to showcase a city. And this isn’t just any city. This is Boise, Idaho — my hometown. Mentioning the city elicits many of the same questions and reactions, so let’s get those out of the way right now. Yes, there are potatoes, but no, we don't eat them all of the time. The city is actually in the West, not the Midwest (Boise is further west than Las Vegas, and you probably mixed it up with Iowa). And yes, Boise State University has the blue turf, and we all saw the 2007 Fiesta Bowl game. The one question I never get asked, however, is “How is the poetry in Boise?” It's a shame that I never get to answer this question too, because there is a strong and vibrant poetry community in Boise, with BSU as its center.