Among other things, I've been working on an essay on poet, C.D. Wright. In one of her essays, "69 Hidebound Opinions," she stresses the importance of the physical, of touch, in poetry. She writes,
"These are some of the things I have touched in my life that are forbidden: paintings behind velvet ropes, electric fencing, a vault in an office, a gun in a drawer, my brother's folding money, the poet's anus, the black holes in his heart, where his life went out of him."
What have you touched in your life that is forbidden? I'm still working on my list. Or, I will be, after I finish my packet . . .