Zeroing In

talking to myself
               —thanks for the echo, lola

here’s what i thought i was doing: alchemizing
an experience into a poem,
locating words to evoke 
the spying of a crescent moon 
through leaves,
counting syllables to form a tanka,
fine-tuning the music, 
plumbing both the joy 
and the centering of composing.

and i was doing that.

but a reader later echoes two lines back to me
and, as though i hadn’t drafted them myself,
i now hear them as she hears them,
as an invitation
to seek a tiny peephole / in the canopy
of the crowded, 
chaotic, 
convoluted world 
around us.

i accept!

and so i find seeds sheltered in the womb of a sweet pepper,
shake them out, slice cleanly through taut skin and flesh,
tuck bright red strips into a container with hummus. 
in gloucester where i picnic beside the harbor—
as blustery sea air cools my skin, herring gulls cavort above, 
a young man piggybacks his toddler, a border collie fetches
a frisbee from the saltwater—
the snap of firm sun-ripened pepper releases
a microburst of flavor.

—dotty seiter

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Notes about poem and art:
• “talking” was great fun to write! Lola’s comment after reading “predawn moon’s telltale” stopped me in my tracks because she’d perceived a metaphor, i.e. advice for how to live in a crowded world of stimuli, whereas I’d been focused solely on communicating the act of seeking a literal peephole in a canopy of literal leaves through which I might be able to see the literal moon. And yet, was I not taking my own advice even then when I dialed my focus way way down and away from all competing stimuli, in that case, to write a poem?
• Does today’s art link with today’s poem? It did not at the time of its coming into being, but what do I do every time I sit to paint if not seek a tiny peephole / in the canopy / of the crowded, / chaotic, / convoluted world / around us? I dial my focus way way down and away from all competing stimuli to be with what is right in front of me. In this case, when I stood back to view what had emerged, I remembered Making Pretzels With Julie and Reeva circa 1973.



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My Story

In 2014, I grab an unexpected opportunity to paint.

To make art.

I get hooked.

In 2015 I start a blog—a diary of my creative practice.

I post my paintings and their stories. The good, the bad, the ugly.

In 2025 I begin writing poetry and include a poem and painting in each post.

My compass points: shake hands with fear, be playful, get messy, trust my gut.

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