On Being Colorado’s New Poet Laureate

And a poem I shared at the inauguration ceremony

Hi Sweet Community,

Wednesday I was inaugurated as the new poet laureate of Colorado. It was such a sweet and joyful day. I read a couple of poems (sharing one in a video below) and gave a little speech at Chautauqua Park in Boulder, which is nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Many of my local friends were present, and I spoke about my first year living in the state. It was 1999 and I had so few friends I’d often get out of work on Friday and not say a word to anyone until I returned to work on Monday morning. 

Photo credits by Denver Post & Helen Richardson

One day, in hopes of building community, I attended a poetry reading at a local coffee shop and read a poem on a stage for the first time. I was absolutely terrified. My hands were shaking so much my voice couldn’t be heard over the rattling of the paper I was holding. But I was hooked, and the following week I bussed down to my first poetry slam at the Mercury Cafe in Denver. The room was lit with soft candles, and the people were just as warm. I never felt so welcomed and at home anywhere. 

Most of what I know about writing I learned from the poets of Colorado. They taught me how to trust my voice. How to tell the truth in a way that would inspire action. And above all––they taught me that being a poet isn’t so much about how we show up to the page but how we show up to the world. Which is something Bobby Lefebre, Colorado’s Poet Laureate for the past years, exemplifies. 

“For me,” Bobby wrote, “being Colorado Poet Laureate was more than a title; it was a calling, a duty, and a privilege. The poet, when effective, is not merely a writer of words, but a cultural worker—a healer who uses the alchemy of language to mend the broken and bind the wounds of our collective spirit. The poet is a conductor and conduit of a world that begs us to see and celebrate our profound relationship to it. We are more than literature; we are cultural translators, humble prophets, communal visionaries. We are stewards and servants of humanity and emotion, dreamers and realists inseparably entwined.” 

Bobby LeFebre

Prior to the celebration on Wednesday, some friends asked if I hesitated to accept the honor as it’s not simply an honor. It’s a responsibility. I did have a couple of initial doubts that I eventually got over, but want to share what they were:

The 1st—I’d followed Bobby Lefebre’s work in the years prior and knew the tremendous gift he was (and continues to be) to the state. It was clear to me how much work and energy and heart he was putting into the position. And I knew my health and or immunity would limit me in ways. For example—I’d have to do many events virtually. I got over that concern, however, when I checked my own ableism. So many poets in my life are chronically ill or disabled, or navigating serious illnesses. One of my closest friends is a poet with cerebral palsy and I’ve watched stages and venues and opportunities be inaccessible to her for years. I want magical moments such as the one I had Wednesday to be possible for everyone. 

Photo credit: Denver Post & Helen Richardson

The 2nd reason I was initially reluctant feels a bit comical to me now. I thought, “How can I accept a two year position when I cannot promise I will live two years?” But no one can promise that, friends. I’ve been very public about my cancer journey not because I want people to know that I’m mortal, but because I so badly want others to know that they are. Knowing that I could die any day saved my life. Understanding, really understanding the brevity of this existence has given me more gratitude, awe, and joy than I thought would be possible for me in this lifetime. I wish that joy for everyone. (Minus the cancer.)

In celebration of it all, I’m sharing a video of one of the poems I read in the park. If you’re having a challenging time in your body today, for any reason, give it a listen.

Thank you so very much for being here everyone. 

Love, Andrea 🖤

News & Updates:

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