The seduction theory: how to prepare for a poem's arrival

The first time I invited my fiancée Corey over to my apartment, I cleaned everything—the usual spots, of course, but also the little hidden ledge behind my yellow thrift-store curtains. I even washed behind the faucet. Right before he arrived, I tenderly dropped eucalyptus essential oil in my diffuser and turned off the big lights. (A must. Iykyk.) Maybe I even lit a Bath and Bodyworks candle, though I can’t remember if that was in my budget back then.

Needless to say, I prepared for the arrival of *magic*. I anticipated something wonderful happening. And it did. (I won’t say more than that, haha.)

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means to prepare for magic as a poet. We often hear advice like “Just be consistent.” “Write every day.” But writing isn’t just about showing up—it’s about creating the conditions for inspiration to meet us there.

A runner doesn’t attempt a marathon without stretching. A musician doesn’t walk onstage without tuning their instrument. What if, instead of forcing a poem when it’s not coming, we prepared for its arrival? What if we anticipated something wonderful happening on the page? And what if, as a result, it did?

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How to Prepare for a Poem’s Arrival

Get in the Mood

Poetry, like romance, thrives on atmosphere. Set the stage in a way that excites you. Maybe it’s playing a certain song, turning off the overhead light, or wearing your ex’s t-shirt. (We listen, we don’t judge). For me, it’s reading a few poems out loud first—hearing the rhythm in my own voice before writing my own. It loosens my tongue. It allows something to brew between my throat and my hands. Sometimes, I like to listen to the soft croon of a Coldplay song. The foreplay is necessary, trust me.

There’s no science to this. Don’t overthink it. Everyone’s ritual will be different. The key is to feel the anticipation in your body. The excitement that something is about to happen.

Open the Windows

Imagine your body as a house. If the windows are shut tight, no fresh air—or poetry—can get in. But when we open them, we let in the unexpected. The stray phrase. The strange image. The whisper of a poem we weren’t even looking for.

This isn’t about forcing ideas; it’s about making space for them. A poem is coming. It’s not a matter of if, but when. Open yourself.

A great way to do this is meditation. Below, you’ll find a ten-minute meditation designed to do just that.

Attune Your Senses

Before you write, take a moment to imagine: What does this poem feel like? Is it as light as a lace curtain? Dense as a novel? What does it sound like—a whisper, a jazz riff, the crack of ice in a glass? What does it taste like? Bitter like dark chocolate, or sweet like the rim of a cheap margarita?

The more you sense the poem, the more intensely the poem will reveal itself to you. You’ll recognize it when it arrives.

This is how we move a poem from the body onto the page.

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Meditation: Preparing for a Poem’s Arrival

I’ve created a 10-minute meditation to help you do just that—to guide you through attuning your senses, unlocking possibility, and welcoming the poem that’s waiting for you. Come back to it whenever you feel stuck creatively.

Because a poem, like a guest, arrives when it feels welcomed. The magic isn’t in forcing it—it’s in making space for it.

So light the candle. Open the window. Get ready. A poem is about to arrive.

This meditation is for paid subscribers! When you subscribe for $8/mo you’ll receive all my paid posts, as well as occasional free ones.