Emily Mae Stokes (3 poems, Nov. issue) from a tepee with relatively few demons, speaks in a clear fifth paragraph of stars about her wolves.

1) When I read your poems I feel like I’m in a tent made of buffalo skin falling asleep thinking it’s warm enough for night, while three other guys talk about making a fire. Why do I feel that way?

The creative mind is the last tepee in the desert and sometimes it’s populated with strange logic. In all seriousness, I couldn’t tell you.
2) Talk a little about the meditative state of writing poetry.

In the actual cold/hard act of writing, I have to be somewhere where there are relatively few demons (neutral territory) or at least they’re keeping quiet. Then I need the patience to focus and genuine will to create. That last one is probably the toughest and the most crucial.

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