It's 6:45 on the East Coast. Often, in the morning, I finish my journaling, move my thouhts ahead three hours and back a few thousand miles, and I wonder, "What are the East Coast editors doing?"
Are they getting another cup of coffee? Are they sifting through poems? Are they grading papers, teaching classes, going to meetings? Are they, like me, holding down a day job and looking at submissions on the weekends? Are my poems still in one stack or another?
Will I hear from them today?
Then I remember to "be careful what you wish for"--but I know what I'm wishing for, among other things.
And if I sent poems to Hawaii, those editors would probably still be asleep.
One of those other wishes: A good Thursday for the world.