If I told you a poem can be a homeWould you believe me?I know, that doesn’t make any literal sense.It’s only words.But what if tell you that these line breaksAre like a garden gate, a pause betweenThis momentAnd all the things to come —Can you then hear the hinges creakingAs the gate swings open?Do you…
Tell me again how my body is like the land unfolding;the land, like a body, like a mother:all of us held and holding. Show me the way to the skyto witness the mountains meeting.The wind in the clouds and my hair:what endures when all is fleeting. Walk on the shore beside me,hold hands and sand and…
Yesterday I read the same adviceIn yet another article:“Each day,Write down three thingsthat you’re thankful for.” Ugh. Gross. I’d rather not. Gratitude makes my teeth ache.Who am I meant to be thankful to, anyway?What do I owe them,For all that I have,(Which is more than I can count,)For all that I do not deserve,(Which is— Spoiler…
