My sestina...

I have written a sestina. I have submitted it to McSweeneys. I have crossed my fingers.


But here is an interesting exercise for you poet types... I'm going to post the first two stanzas of my sestina, and I want you to guess at the third stanza. Feel free to finish the poem if you're so inclined.


Consider this an exercise in formal poetry. Writing a sestina is sort of like a choose-your-own-adventure (which you know I'm interested in) because the options of "where to go next" have been limited for you by your own earlier choices. I'm curious to see if other people use my end words in the same ways (or some of them) that I've used them later on...


C'mon... give it a shot!


When I Moved to the South
by Laurel Snyder


When I moved to the South, there were boxes
Everywhere, and poor people with afros in huge
White T-shirts, and stray pregnant dogs with their hungry
Gentle faces, begging. When I moved to the South,
It wasn’t as hot as expected, not with central air
And sweet tea. But still—it’s hard to be an “Urban Pioneer.”


The first rule of being an urban pioneer—
Even before you’ve unpacked your kitchen boxes,
Even while you’re shocked and cranky in the humid air—
Is that you can never say, “Urban Pioneer” out loud. This is huge!
So if you want to tell a story about the afros in the South,
You have to say, “transitional.” Not “black” or “hungry.”