a prose poem for Sunday

In one of her several books I’ve read so far this year, bell hooks wrote that she sees herself as “a passionate writer with many passions.” I liked this so much that I typed it at the top of my digital to-do list. I’m pleasantly tired, at the end of one week and start of another, because of how many passions are on my calendar, documented in my journal, read or unread on my bookshelves. This past week, I devoured new books by two authors I’ve loved for over a decade. This coming week, I’ll visit Cincinnati to hear from a new favorite author, read for the first time just last year. Last week, I was an eager listener to an older gentleman with lots of UK history to share; “You’re great, Bailey,” he said, just because I was interested. This Thursday, I’ll interview farmers on their own beloved land about how they and the university have helped one another. This afternoon, I cheered loudly for the UK women’s basketball team, in an arena whose history I love studying. “It would be a shame for this big crowd to show up and be disappointed,” said the lady behind me, but that’s what I signed up for when I decided to be a fan, a person with many passions. Next weekend, I’ll get to cheer again for the men’s team, my heartbeat going wild for the heart this team has. Today I prepared my presentation for tomorrow, when my students return from spring break, when I’ll share more about Alice Dunnigan and hopefully teach them how, when they’re writing, to end strongly.