So much of life is slots. This fits there. This doesn't.
The mind likes to sort and file. And so, when we bump into a person, or a poem, that doesn't fit neatly into our definition, we are baffled, flustered, and then, ideally, intrigued.
That's how I found Sarah Sloat, in the pages of her unusually titled book of poems: Excuse Me While I Wring This Long Swim Out of My Hair.
Are these poems experimental? ironic? confessional? post-modern something or other? I don't know. I just know her lines lured me in, and I paddled about with, yes, an initial fluster, that expanded into a lovely backfloat of appreciation.
And so, I invited Sarah to take part in 3 Good Books. There, she offers her favorite books that defy category.
I think you'll like the book suggestions, and Sarah too.