Welcome to the Commune podcast. This is Jeff Krasno. Many of you may receive my weekly Sunday

commusing article where I address a breadth of issues from the spiritual to the sociopolitical.

And on occasion, I will also record an audio version of these articles

and release it here as a bonus episode. So this week's missive deserves a little back story.

The first week I moved to Los Angeles about six years ago, I decided to pay a little visit to the

Hollywood farmer's market. I figured it was a

decent spot to find my people. My instincts were correct. Sandwiched between Beesian sourdough

kiosk and a Mediterranean hummus stand was a lithe sprite hunched over an old mechanical typewriter. She jabbed at the

keys with a plum, producing a percussive concerto of cliques. Now for a long time, I watched

this line of women and men and children approach her to receive her extemporaneous poems,

some quite nervous, others just curious.

She listened intently and then madly translated scattered emotions into words.

These parchment vessels never failed to elicit laughter or a fraught tightening of the lips.

It was a delight to witness these quiet catharsies tucked into a side street of Hollywood.

Finally, I summoned the courage to enter the cue myself.

She offered me a beautiful piece of writing then, and now six years

later, I am honored to host Jacqueline Suskin here on the podcast for this week's reading.

If this piece inspires you to try your own hand at poetry, I highly recommend taking her

five-day commune course. Every day is a poem at onecommun.com slash poem.

You can sign up for absolutely free.

If you're interested in receiving my weekly Sunday screed,

sign up at onecomon.com and follow my regular exhortations on Instagram at Jeff Krasno.

...