Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem “Seated Beside Iggy at a Dinner Party” by Anne Tannam, posted below.

Our prompt was: “Write about diving in.”

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

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Please join us for our next session Friday May 16th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.

Seated Beside Iggy at a Dinner Party by Anne Tannam

It's hard not to feel intimidated. After all, this is
   the man who invented the stage dive, bare-chested 

haloed father of punk rock, ecstatic, bloodied, wing-torn
   Icarus, resurrected, strutting his tail feathers, embracing 

the legend of the fall. Puts you in mind of your mother,
   who, on her sixtieth birthday, skydived from a height

of ten thousand feet, the crack of her ankle breaking
   heralded her triumphant descent, into the family hall of fame.

You wait until they've served dessert, a rich chocolate 
   ganache tart, garnished with the season's first strawberries,

before turning to glance sideways at his face, its hush
   of concentration, each spoonful manna from heaven lifted 

reverently to his lips, rapt expression a cross between Tiny
   Tim's and Scrooge's as they feasted on the ghost of second 

chances and the promise of Christmas all year round. Swivelling
   in your seat, you clear your throat; it's now or never.

When will you again get the chance to crack the code
   of how to live like tomorrow is a conspiracy 

of the imagination? He puts down his spoon, like he's got 
   all day, waits for you to form the words. If you don’t

mind me asking, your face reddening, how do you 
do it; how do you live like you're never going to die?

He gestures to your untouched plate: the scalloped 
   pastry's golden crust, the heady marriage of chocolate

and cream, the curvaceous blush of summer fruit. A gift 
   from the gods, he says, beckoning: go on, dive in.

Credit: Anne Tannam