I got a craigslist ride down I-5 and from there I hitched on a road that ran wide, narrow, wet, and then dry past a couple little towns and through some bottle-brush doug-firs to get to Paula, who’s living in the woods. The people who picked me up hitch-hiking were number one, a retired plumber … Continue reading the woods and what I thought about
I woke, and all the walls had fallen around the garden of my heart. I went to pile them up again, but I had lost my trowel. I had been spinning, blindfolding, your hand on my shoulder, and I no longer knew where I was at all. You told me that I made you … Continue reading morning
the parchment-like partitions of the pods of honesty
. Dear internet- it’s been a minute. It rained today, internet. It hailed actually. I know they don’t have hail where you’re from, internet. Well I’ll tell you what it was like. It was like the sky fell down, but the sky was made of water, and then afterwards nothing was different at all, because … Continue reading the parchment-like partitions of the pods of honesty
. The rain is coming down. It pours like a pitcher of water on the roof, pouring, and pouring, and pouring. We are underwater. I am the goldfish in the rain barrel, here is my lichen-covered stick. I eat mosquito larvae to live. This bed is a ship, a grassy plain, an inland tundra. It … Continue reading yes
Everything that’s wrong
This morning I straddle my bike and ride to Sellwood, eleven miles with the wind at my face. My naturopath meets me at the door with a hot cup of nettle tea, invites me into her stucco kitchen, toys strewn across the floor. You see, my child has been playing. Then we sit at her … Continue reading Everything that’s wrong
For Pearl, who is leaving to go east
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For the moon
Dear moon, I am fading How many of you are there left? What are you, moon? I do not know if you are hollow, or made of solid gold Dear moon, I am fading. I am not like you, moon. I fade in and out, I melt into the sea, I rise up again like … Continue reading For the moon
What is it
What is it, to know the value of a thing? What is it, to crush a bit of western redcedar in your hand and smell everything you’ve been missing, and everything you’ve ever wanted, besides? One full moon, one unbroken block of time? A week without anxiety? Your guts like a grandfather clock, time immemorial, … Continue reading What is it
why I can’t focus on anything
It would make sense, these days, for me to be writing. I am so full of love, filled up with companionship, my larders stocked with beautiful things. Sleep is furiously regular, easy, and alarmingly restful- the dark of my shack, my ten hundred blankets, the long-bodied cellar spiders that leave their dim corners and dance … Continue reading why I can’t focus on anything
WE WENT TO THE COAST FOR THE EQUINOX, AND IT WAS MAGIC
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