What do Susan Bradley, Daniel Brenner, Karen Daniel, Deidre Elizabeth, Marty Esworthy, Gene Hosey, Kevyn Knox, MercyRain, Christine O'Leary-Rockey, John Rogers, Deborah Ryder, Snow, Julia Rietmulder-Stone, Keith Ward, Le Hinton, and Christian Thiede have in common? No, they haven't ALL sung Yanky-Doodle backwards while hopping on one foot. Guess again. Pumpkins that walk without feet? You aren't even trying! Okay, I'll tell you: they're all poets who live in the capital city of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and they've all been published by Megaera!

To find out why a city with a population of about 55,000 has such an incredibly thriving poetry community compared with cities twenty times its size, we decided to go to Harrisburg ourselves to investigate. (This was hinted at in Issue 17.) Alas, poor planning on our part and a delayed flight combined to keep us from realizing our goal. The stench of failure filled the Megaera offices for the entire month of July. (Well, that plus the air conditioning wasn't working.) Nevertheless, Snow assured us that August would be just as fine so we rescheduled.

However, fate conspired to keep at least one of your beloved editors from making it to Harrisburg a second time. None other than Patrick Orlob was called in by his place of employment due to a server crashing, and fortuitously enough, he was the only man in the great state of Utah who could fix said server. On the day we were meant to catch our flight, Mr. Orlob was working tirelessly until three in the morning to get things back up and running. His company should be grateful they have him. (Snow's young son Gregory, who is as old as Megaera is (Happy Fifth Birthday, Gregory!) was disappointed that Pat couldn't come.)

Nevertheless, one of your esteemed editors, the mild-mannered Darrell Moore, was able to find an empty seat with his stand-by ticket and soon found himself on the way to Cincinnati. Since cell phones are taboo upon airplanes in flight, Snow didn't know for sure if anyone was showing up until an hour before I was scheduled to arrive. But despite this great obstacle, he was able to arrange a ride from the airport to his lovely home by way of the poet Jason Moffitt, who occasionally goes bass fishing with Snow in the mighty Susquehanna. He, like many others I would meet, was amazed that I would travel all the way across the country to attend one poetry reading at the request of someone I've only communicated with by email and a few brief telephone calls. But I am as yet young (although now closer to thirty than twenty as Mr. Orlob has pointed out) and still adventerous and I just couldn't turn down the invitation to meet some of my favorite poets in the flesh.

I arrived at Snow's house at about one in the morning. Snow was at work, but his wife Barbara invited me in and showed me the room they'd prepared for me. Poor Barb had to put up with a strange man living in her house for a couple nights but she never once complained and proved the perfect hostess as well as an excellent cook. She also drove Snow and I around the fair city with young Gregory in tow. I couldn't ask for a better reception.

I slept in till eleven, then the family Snow and I had lunch at Broadstreet Market. This is where I saw the Amish who were selling various food stuffs, although we ultimately ate at a Vietnamese place. Snow introduced me to a couple people he ran into while we were there. (This will continue to be a reoccuring theme. Snow seems to be on a first name basis with the larger part of the population of Harrisburg. People shouted to him from car windows, waved to him on the street, spoke with him at length in bookstores and art museums. It was like being with a celebrity.)

From there, we walked (I later learned that Snow has only driven a car once in his life) to a couple rare bookstores where Snow of course knew the owners. This is where I picked up Emily Rice's new book Quicksilver and Suede (she was good enough to sign it for me at the reading). We then wandered into a lamp store at the behest of Gregory where Snow actually apologized to the clerk for never being in the store before! We then visited the Susquehanna Art Museum (where we ran into Deb Ryder's daughter) and from there checked out the view of Harrisburg from a park. Here I had a lengthy discussion with Snow about poetry and life philosophies. "Poetry is meant to be read outloud," Snow said. "You can quote me on that." So I have. I later got to meet Experimental Forest editor Kevyn Knox where he was tending bar at Molly O'Flanagan's (I also met his wife Jeanette Trout on the street).

After a very tasty meal at Snow's house (later that night I enjoyed Lebanon bologne for the first time, a Pennsylvania original), we set out to the poetry reading held just across the street from the Capitol building. There I met Gene Hosey, Harrisburg's first poet laureat, Keith Ward who was good enough to read one of my poems a month ago when I couldn't make it, Karen Daniels who mailed me a video of the reading Pat and I wished we could have made it too, Deidre Elizabeth who read a poem (Sexual Suicide) which was published in these very pages not so long ago, and how can I forget the illustrious Marty Esworthy who took me on a walking tour of Harrisberg after the reading (we saw the building that used to be the library where Marianne Moore spent her formative years, and the place where the hotel Dickins stayed in used to stand.)

The other featured poets (besides my humble self) were the much superior Barbara DeCesare (who gave me a complimentary copy of her book Jig Saw Eye Sore) and the fantastic Alexandra Hartman (an editor at Shirazad) who later took some pictures with me at Scott's Bar and Grille. There, Marty told me about Flaubert, who decided not to go back to a particular courtisan again since the first time was so good he didn't want the memory tainted by a second inferior experience (trying to hint that I shouldn't come back to the 'Berg?). I also spoke at length with Christian Thiede (whose poem Canyonlands appears in this issue).

I was understandably nervous since I'm more of a print poet than an outloud poet. I was later told I didn't read loud enough for the good folks sitting in the back and I read too quickly for those sitting up front. Fortunately, I didn't stay up there very long and the audience was soon treated to the original poetic stylings of Alexandra Hartman and Barbara DeCesare. Snow was the emcee of the night and there were many excellent poets who read in the open reading that came after. The reading was held outside in a courtyard. The temperature the entire time I was in Harrisburg was quite temperate. I love how friendly and walkable the city is. I'm not quite sure that I'd call Harrisburg a Flaubert courtisan, but it's close.

Unfortunately I wasn't able to meet Le Hinton, who was going to put us up in a hotel last time when we couldn't make it at the last minute. Also absent was MercyRain, who no one I talked to had seen for a month. I regret spending so little time in Harrisburg (Snow and I figured out it was just about 30 hours) because there is a lot more to do and see (including The Sweetest Place on Earth and the fire at Centraila which has lasted 40 years!) and a lot more people that I didn't get a chance to meet. My biggest regret, though, was being too chicken to take a picture of the first cow I saw at the airport. (It had wings!)

When I got back home, I spread out everything I collected on my journey. I gained four books. There's Jig Saw Eye Sore by Barbara DeCesare and Quicksilver and Suede by Emily Rice of course. I also recieved the printed anthology of Shirazad (edited by Alexandra Hartman of course) and the latest issue of Circle edited by Megaera contributor Penelope Talbert. I wrote a new poem while I was in the airplane, Marty Esworthy gave me a couple signs advertising my previously failed visit, the ticket stubs, the video (which I haven't watched yet due to a broken VCR, but I'll watch it someday so help me), an audio CD entitled Gargoyle 46 featuring the vocal talents of Barbara DeCesare, and a pamplet I picked up from the Susquehanna Art Museam - theme: circles. And that brings us back around.