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1998: Thirteen years old and rambling with my friends in a fitful of giggles along the brick-lined streets of Harvard Square. We are loud for no reason and punch-drunk on a first taste of independence as, unchaperoned, we watch games of chess and idly chat with panhandlers and hop into every shop that inspires the slightest glimpse of intrigue. We turn onto Plympton Street and I stop short, stunned, then step into the Grolier Poetry Bookshop. 400 square feet of floor-to-ceiling chapbooks and anthologies featuring no other genre but poetry. Time stops in this room with history and possibilities, hiding in plain sight among looming institutions and fast-moving trends, reminding me of how poetry's simple elegance can drive emotion without prose's need to fill every inch of a page. A feeling I'm reminded of when I read poetry today. For this month's issue of The Beautiful Worst, I'm sharing some of my favorite poems saved on my camera roll over the years and a few of my go-to places to bring poetry into my daily routines. Happy reading! xo.Katie
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