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Dearest friends and readers:

When I started this space with a Louise Glück poem to convey the murmurings of my heart, I had no idea that this place will bloom into what it is now. And bloom it did, and survive we did, as we moved through the years and went through so much grief and joy, despair and wonderment, anguish and curiosity. There is often the insistence of the abyss that threatens to swallow us whole. Equally, there is the persistence of the world that continues to turn and asks us to live, even if it’s just one day at a time. Throughout all of that, poetry has been a fixed point.

Your continued readership has been a balm to my soul and one of my truest anchors. I want to keep on doing this—and so I am asking, with gentleness and most of all, love—if you can support Read A Little Poetry by donating via Ko-fi:

Ko-fi does not process the payment and won’t take a cut out of your donation. It all goes directly to me via PayPal (which might show you the name of my studio). You can support me as a guest (no need to create an account, though you might not be able to see future updates from me on the platform). Any information you provide me will be kept confidential—I only ask that you do the same for me.

Other ways to help

Every individual post has affiliate links to the book and to the author page on Amazon. After researching and exploring my options, given where I and a lot of my readers are located, this is the most accessible so far.

That being said, because I still want to support more independent businesses, I have also created a Read A Little Poetry store on Bookshop.org for my readers who live in the United States.

You can choose where to make your purchase, which may generate a small commission at no additional cost to you. All of these efforts are for the upkeep of this space.

Thank you for your kindness

I know that it is so difficult for all of us to keep going, much more to extend generosity to others when daily life demands that we nurture ourselves first and foremost, and so I want to impress upon you that you absolutely do not have to—your presence here is enough. That you share this intangible room with me is enough. That you sit with me and read words upon words upon words is enough.

But allow me to express what it would mean to be a recipient of your kindness: it would be an opportunity for me to build a better site, with more regular posts and an index, among others. It would be greatly influential to me as a poet, as a writer and designer, who dreams of pursuing this full time. Most of all, it will allow me to spend more hours on what I love: poems.

Ah, my love, I almost want to dissolve into nothingness, having asked and knowing I am not used to it. But I remember my friend who thanked me for trusting her with my moment of vulnerability. It is safe with me, she said, and I believe her. I am hoping it is safe with you, too.

& how many times have you loved me without my asking?

—from acknowledgments by Danez Smith

Yours, and ever so grateful,
T.

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"The world moves, my Lord, and I stay still, / yielding as it passes through."

"forgive the bodies i swallowed like broken teeth: the knees i spent trying to summon god in my own mouth:"

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