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‘Comes in Threes’ Chapbook Available for Sale!


Comes in Threes is a self-published poetry and art chapbook i created and published March 9th, 2021. i first created a zine that contained eleven poems and a few digital art pieces in March of 2017 by the same name. the 2021 chapbook version contains poems that were in the zine version and have been heavily edited. some are new, never seen poems i wrote for the chapbook. there are six (sadness) poems that were inspired by Mary Ruefle’s sadness poems. two poems, tarantella and reverie, were inspired by poems my late great-grandpa wrote in his memoir.

there are two size options available for sale here, the larger 8×10 inch version has a glossy cover, and the 5.5×8.5 inch version has a matte cover. all copies of either version will come with a randomly chosen free print from these three. i’ve also added bundle options now! there are physical copy + three art print bundles, and digital copy + art print bundles.

the digital (PDF) version of the chapbook is available for any donation amount over venmo.

postcard prints!

only four days now until the official release of my chapbook Comes in Threes! I’m so excited for people to see it, i managed to get an ISBN and everything! i’ve been working this week on making three of the artworks in Comes in Threes into postcard-sized prints. i’m still fine-tuning them, but anyone who purchases a copy of CiT will receive a postcard print for free with their copy! i’ll just be randomly choosing and popping one in before delivery. they will be made available for a fixed price starting March 9th as well, and i’ll make some bundle options if people want to purchase a print or a few + a digital copy of the chapbook – which, by the way, digital copies are available for pre-order right now too, with any donation amount accepted over venmo! if you would like to pre-order a digital copy and a postcard print, just note that in your venmo transaction and donate any amount over $10! more concrete info on the prints will be posted next week.

to start us off, a poem…

as someone who is a writer and an artist, but not really a “working artist” i guess (under capitalist terms, but i do have to live under capitalism, however unfortunate), and therefore questioning myself more than i’d like to, i’ve decided to let myself just create however feels best for now. and i’ll figure out how to survive capitalism on the side, whether my writing and art can help me do that financially, or just emotionally. i’ve been thinking a lot about rejections, too. how stifling and exhausting it can feel to get another “sorry, it’s just not for us” email, how hard it is to even figure out how to get my art into the world. i had more connections and opportunities than i realized in college, and my first year and half post-grad have been… hell. i feel like i’ve just remembered over the past three-ish months that i do in fact have talent and skill, and i do actually like to create.

so, my weekly updates will be whatever i want them to be. poems, new and old, that i can publish myself if i want, instead of waiting and waiting. fiction and non-fiction pieces i’m working on and want to share, inspiration i’m utilizing in my writing processes – the first therapist i ever stuck with helped me realize last year that i do the best in my own work when i’ve read/watched/listened to something that inspired me. new art pieces i have going, maybe new ideas i have for a series or collection, or updates to previous pieces/collections. my art and writing feel fluid to me in a lot of ways.

so, to start us off and see February off, here is the newest poem i’ve written. i wrote this poem based off of one of my great-grandpa’s poems. i didn’t know he wrote poetry until i read his memoir a few months ago, a couple of months after he died. this poem will be included in my forthcoming chapbook Comes in Threes, and may wind up slightly different in its final version. it’s the final part of the chapbook that needs to be finalized before it’s printed and officially distributed on March 9th.

reverie

on my back, the sun is cold.
i stride through the empty
and snow covered park,

only the sound of my feet
kicking up powder,
my hands punching
down on ice, breaking
a rare silence.

with the bark of a dog, i leap back
twenty years, maybe 200 miles.

on kid me’s face, the sun is warm.
my body lays in the front yard of a house
known too little. snow angels, sledding, laughing,

the markings of a family known too little.
gone, the big yards and big house
too soon. only the snow in the wind
and an angel remain from
the remembrance of some kid within.


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