SWWIM sustains and celebrates women poets by connecting creatives across generations and by curating a living archive of contemporary poetry, while solidifying Miami as a nexus for the literary arts.
My boss is a real estate attorney, the director of a retirement home and also runs a side hustle in which he bids on the belongings of the homes of those who are about to move on, or move in with their kids or down South or wherever. Treasures no longer important enough to fit. In Maine survival often depends on these types of secondary jobs: Snow ploughing to push a little more cash into the coffers, clamming licenses to dig out a bushel of Casco Bay littlenecks in the summer. At estate sales he makes, tops, a couple grand then trashes the rest: colanders, lawn chairs, collections of ballpoint pens and flimsy matchbooks in old coffee cans. You can’t take it with you remains true, and it’s easy to tell the mortal state of the one who’s gone. Generally speaking, the living leave behind the most. While the dead take the delicate bone china sugar bowls and the gold Colby signet ring, the snowbirds have no use for the melamine. _____________________________________________________________
Nicole Chvatal writes property deeds and other witty things and lives in Maine. Her work has appeared in LEON, The Portland Press Herald newspaper, Pilgrimage, and Verseweavers. She is a graduate of the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College.
