Dear Reader,
A few weeks ago I was sitting at my local coffee haunt, taking in the scenery, while quietly sipping on an overpriced espresso. I should’ve been writing, but like most writers, I’m prone to procrastinate. That is until I saw a woman smoking on the corner, wreathed in smoke as if emerging from flames. I immediately thought of Joan of Arc, the young saint-warrior who was burned at the stake. The association begat a poem, the draft of which I quickly scribbled down in my little black notebook.