3 min read

in the hands of the wonder-struck

a lush green meadow at the border of a wood, with (blurry) fireflies congregat
via Moist Poetry Journal

So I'm doing an email newsletter again.

The last couple tries petered out, largely because they were personal blogs that happened to be published through TinyLetter (and later, regrettably, Substack). Then I stopped writing for an audience (and for money), and it turns out not many people want to read an email newsletter about the daily slice-of-life exploits of a healthcare worker. (Believe me, I tried.) After a while I didn't really need one, and trying to keep one going felt like more work than it was worth.

But now I'm writing poetry, for an audience, and performing spoken word at various open mic and reading events. With my social media presence also shrinking– gotta protect my peace as much as I can, loves– I need to have some means of keeping people updated on what I'm working on. (Besides Bluesky. A lot of people aren't on Bluesky. Also I post tiddy on Bluesky, which isn't going to be everyone's thing.)

I can't say how often I'll publish here– I'm going to aim for at least once a month, but really it's going to be when I have things to talk about.

Anyway, hi! I'm a poet and spoken word performer, and I ended up here kindasorta on accident, but I'm excited to share my work with a wider audience! Including YOU!

At a recent open mic someone described my poetry as such:

It's giving Slutty Transsexual Mary Oliver

If this sounds like it might be your thing, then, welcome!

Updates

The biggest news right now is that I got my first publication credit! Moist Poetry Journal was kind enough to publish "wonder-struck" earlier this month.

Also news: I will be a featured reader at the next edition of poïsons, a trans poetry salon. This is my first time being a featured reader... anywhere. Excited! Nervous! Probably won't explode? We'll see!

Catch me at Loaves & Witches in Chicago on Aug. 1 at 7pm.

Otherwise:

  • I'm continuing to submit my unpublished manuscript to various small presses, hoping someone bites
  • I've been taking a lot of online workshops, including a recent six-week class on Performance and the Page by Neil Hilborn.
  • So. Many. Open Mics.

Upcoming Performances

07/25/2025: Friday Open Mic; Eli Tea Bar, Chicago IL, 8pm-10pm

08/01/2025: poïsons: a trans reading series & cabaret; Loaves And Witches, Chicago IL, 7pm-10pm *** FEATURED READER ***

08/03/2025: That’s Poetic!! Open Mic; Bramble Arts Loft, Chicago IL, 6pm-8pm [SPECIAL LATER TIME] ($10 cover)

08/17/2025: That’s Poetic!! Open Mic; Bramble Arts Loft, Chicago IL, 5pm-7pm ($10 cover)

08/22/2025: Friday Open Mic; Eli Tea Bar, Chicago IL, 8pm-10pm

08/29/2025: Friday Open Mic; Eli Tea Bar, Chicago IL, 8pm-10pm

What's Bridget Reading?

a photo of the cover of The Divine Whatevers by Isabella Streffen

My friend and I traded poetry collections recently– they borrowed my copy of the newest collection from Han Vanderhart (HIGHLY recommend), and I borrowed this absolutely sumptuous book by Isabella Streffen.

a photo of the cover for Depression & Other Magic Tricks by Sabrina Benaim

I'm also just about finished with Sabrina Benaim's most recent collection. If you're like me– and I know I am– you probably love a good cry. This book is for you, love.

Other People's Poems

Not to be confused with the local monthly event of the same name, although I did read this at July's edition of OPP.

Sabrina Benaim, y'all.

avowal | i drink my coffee black. you don't like coffee. you like what it does to your body, you like the way coffee makes your body feel. so you take your cream & sugar with coffee, every morning. this is not about you. i like how looking at you makes me feel twice i asked to kiss you the second time, how you said i just don't think i can give you what you want. i'm not sure why you kissed me back the first time. i suspect you liked what it did to your body, you liked the way my kiss made your body feel. once, there was a lump in my throat. i like to believe it was a metaphor. every feeling i have swallowed. a plain tumor is all it was. see how this is my story. i have woken up looked in the mirror & thought damn i look good today. you wear sweat shorts & i still want to fuck you. once. you gave me a bouquet of pink roses or was it a fury of your puckered lips? if i am late it is because i was too anxious to leave. i don't know how to plan time. when your elbow found mine in that crowd after a year of our mouths not speaking i was not happy to see you i was relieved. cut to me blushing. laughing, of course. weren't you dancing beside me? we were no full moon. once you said a person is either a peacekeeper or a pot stirrer. we both know which i am. i bet you think you're a peacekeeper. in my poems you are the dream of you. maybe is an alternate universe. the falling stars are just glitter just thou sands of tiny LED lights poured down from the sky that July was a fire that minded its own business the following June was just thirty days the moon was a strawberry it wasn't the drugs the shadows on the ceiling weren't dancing again. i was walking backwards when i met you. i made all of this magic. i bet You think magicians don't exist. you are not the first boy who i wrote
into existence, or loved. you are the first dizzy wind spell to trip my tornado. once, you smiled in my direction & balloon on the loose there i went so high i forgot which came first you or the dream of you. that thought unties my shoelaces. once, we were a crescent moon, weightless as a smile. you told me, once, after work you took the bus all the way west to watch the sunset, only to miss it. you said you were so glad you made it to me on time. i love you. still. i'm not sorry. i don't want to write about you anymore. let's see how long we can go without talking. this time, if we really try, maybe i will forget your birthday. maybe. if you came back, i would not ask why. i miss you, but i don't wish you were here. you may say none of this ever happened. but some of the details sure fit." *abracadabra

Love you,

Bridget

Bridget Gordon