Ides of October
Day 15 of the Tupelo Press 30/30 Project
There are seasons in our lives that have nothing to do with the weather. They arrive without warning, unsettle what we thought we knew, and ask us to examine what we are holding onto—and what we might finally be ready to release.
I have been thinking about these seasons while spending time in Yogyakarta, Indonesia. The humid air, the movement of butterflies, the unfamiliar rhythms of the classroom, and the small cultural objects that become souvenirs have all found their way into my poetry.
Today's poem, "Ides of October," explores what I have begun to think of as a season of unmooring—that uncomfortable space between who we have been and who we are becoming.
The title borrows from the ancient Roman calendar, where the Ides of October falls on the fifteenth day of the month. There is something compelling about marking a particular date in the midst of an uncertain transformation. The calendar tells us exactly where we are in time, even when we cannot say where we are within ourselves.
In this poem, butterflies move through a classroom, a decorative Indonesian folding fan—a kipas—opens, and silence becomes its own form of expression. There is restraint, resistance, and the persistent movement of air.
Perhaps transformation does not always announce itself dramatically. Sometimes it is simply the decision to remain present while everything inside us shifts.
I am halfway through the Tupelo Press 30/30 Project, writing a poem every day for thirty days. Each poem is an opportunity to pay attention—to the world around me, to the language that surprises me, and to the questions I have not yet answered.
If you have been following my poems, thank you for accompanying me on this journey.
Support my Tupelo Press 30/30 Project: Your contributions help Tupelo Press continue publishing poetry and supporting poets. I invite you to read, share, and consider making a donation in support of this literary community.
And I would love to hear from you:
Have you ever experienced a season of unmooring—a time when you knew you were changing but were not quite ready to let go?
Thank you for reading, and for making room for poetry.
Katerina Canyon
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