There’s something about deciding to create a short edition of little handmade books, the planning, the figuring out how what poem to use, how to lay it out.
There’s something to choosing the poem, to thinking it’s ready to print, then editing and re-editing.
There’s something about the decision to use a cover illustration, deciding on the kind of image you want, and figuring out where to find it.
You don’t know how to use those graphics programs, the highly technical ones, don’t understand how to use its layers, so it’s back to one you acquired, around the time of the dinosaurs. It came with a camera in 2006, and is no longer available even online.
So you make do, print out proof after proof. Move the illustration a little higher, try a soft edge on it. Choose a title font. Try it in different points.
Refold the booklet, reprint using a better grade of paper. There’s something about the careful folding of it, and the one cut you have to make. There’s something peaceful about lining up the corners.
There’s something about signing, numbering, dating what you’ve made. There they are, ready. You’re not sure exactly, what they are ready for; it doesn’t matter.