Terri McCord is a previous Pinhole contributor. She is a Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee. Her work is forthcoming in Trampoline, The Chiron Review, and Many Nice Donkeys. A visual artist as well, she loves utilizing the visual for writing.
You can read The small children build a time capsule in the July 2025 issue.
Would you like to tell us a little bit more about your poem? For instance, how or why you wrote it, or perhaps provide some extra context?
The genesis of this poem came from the actual objects, artifacts in a way, that can be found at a playground or other outdoor setting where children might naturally gather materials out of curiosity. In this case, that gathering includes insects and food for the insects as well as abandoned sunglasses and fallen-off sequins. All of this presents a kind of self-portrait, which the children have also made in a more typical hand-drawn fashion, but the idea of making this into a time capsule for the future is a collaborative project. It focuses on a moment in present day, and then it considers the future, perhaps 74 years away, that the children have been shakily notating.
Is there a collection of poetry that never leaves your (perhaps metaphorical) nightstand?
What a challenging question, really. There are several collections that I fairly often recall a passage that I think of as timeless. A recent one is Carolyn Forché’s In the Lateness of the World. I think she has such a wonderful way of embracing everyone and showing connections.
If you didn’t write poetry, how do you think you might access the same fulfillments that poetry offers in your life?
I can’t exactly imagine not using verbal language, but I do connect and seek understandings by painting and drawing. An attempt to see something, and share, feel some sort of empathy, is the same impetus I have in writing poetry. More recently, I have realized, too, that the desire to care, and give attention to others, especially creatures that are smaller or virtually invisible is, in a way, the same as giving voice in a poem.
How do you revise your work?
Actually, the bringing to life of the poem in my consciousness is the first step in revision. Once I have realized the poem and set it in motion, I try to further investigate or play with the poem in terms of feeling, language, tropes, and form. And, literally, I try to craft it, but I try to love the poem into its best shape. I also literally do research regarding the content, story, or vocabulary, and I can definitely count all of the other poems and writers I read who illustrate ways in which I might revise. It is an ongoing process. Then, I have people I critique with, and a few who offer wonderful feedback to very close readings.
As a poet, what does creative success or achievement look like for you?
For me, the success I think actually is the continued production or creation of original work that is heartfelt, open to experimentation, echoes the past, but is topical and timely, that seeks to offer fresh imagery, and that I think shows my authentic voice. The achievement is the making of it, to process the world and its happenings this way, to try and truly communicate with another and to be offered an opportunity to share. Shared experiences. This is all a great honour to me, not including actual publications, and I have been allowed this practice since elementary school.
How or where or with what does a poem begin?
Probably because I am a visual artist as well, many of the poems begin with something visual, and it is usually a literal, tangible object or landscape. I also love ekphrastic writing and responding to visual art. I recently wrote a memory poem based on an old pincushion. I also, though, more frequently write some poems with epigraphs that include quotes from news stories, and I will overlay some of these with the personal to a more worldview. I am often weaving time and space together to engage and relate to an imagined reader or listener. Micro to macro.
Are there other art forms that inspire or inform your poetry?
Texture and literal touch is important, and I have realized that recently. I am very engaged with the multitude of textures and nuances, how to convey them, and how much they are transformed, especially over time. The ramifications of weather and nature and the speeding up of everything might be the reason I notice even more the power of design and how design alters. I notice rhythm and music as well, and I love to play with internal rhymes and visual spaces in the writing, almost like dance steps.
How do you make space for poetry in your daily routine?
I try to prioritize the space for poetry. I think I could spend eighteen hours a day on it, at least I feel that way now. I don’t spend that much time, but I do cut out superfluous activities. I am also realizing that I have to rest, that intense concentration might not always yield the most true work. It is about balance and mindset.
What are you reading or watching or listening to lately that intrigues or inspires you?
The news (which I read, not watch). I also love Last West: Roadsongs for Dorothea Lange by Tess Taylor. This is a hybrid text that is amazingly timely and has a wonderful historical context. I would love to try a hybrid in a collagist fashion. Children’s books are also inspiring for their illustrations and succinctness. I do spend time with transcripts of the news, and I love the photo folios.
Have you ever received advice (or has there been something you’ve learned on your own) about writing or revising poems that has made you a better poet? What was it?
Trust your instincts, too.
How did you begin writing poetry? Was there a specific inspiration or reason?
Very early on, I felt the authors spoke to me in a language I could understand. If I didn’t understand it, I still wanted to enter their world.