the cat is still alive and we are together, still breathing.
i want to delete everything and start over
make something waterproof
and strong as guitar strings
(not too strong)
bonds need to break
to make energy, the season needs
i am not waiting, i am running towards it. i’m so
pre-emptive i rush right past it
i can’t breathe
i want to buy a new purse, new
sinus cavities, new
i want to spend all my money on sleep
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
I’ve been a long-time supporter of Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge and at the end of August, Brady Liger fell ill to a fungal infection. If you can donate something, anything at all, please consider supporting their efforts. Your donations can help pay for medical expenses, food, and bigger enclosures for the animals.
And here are two writerly things I’m going to try to take advantage of this September. The first is my local library’s Banned Books Writing Contest and the second is an international open call for submissions from the Black Library and the Warhammer 40K Universe.
Musings on coffee and other things from stoneronarollercoaster
Jamaica Kincaid’s Girl
“Farewell” is on my tongue by Paulus Silentarius, translated by William Roger Paton
A Play-by-Play of Queer Seduction by Marisa Crane on Chantarelle’s Notebook
The Past by Ralph Waldo Emerson
[we are] by Quentin Baker
Vesuvius by Noah Eli Gordon
Photo source: turpentinecreek.org
I was using twitter for a while to keep track of all the videos and articles I wanted to refer back to or keep as reference material. That hasn’t really worked so I’m going to try posting stuff here. I don’t know if I want to call it a “weekly roundup” or make a “favorite things” list.
This might turn into a weekly thing…or a biweekly thing…or a one off thing. Hopefully not, I don’t know.
Firstly, anyone needing any kind of photograph or artwork for ANY REASON AT ALL needs to check out Unsplash. A writer friend turned me on to it and all I can say is THANK YOU! This site is the best!
Secondly, Leopard Seals are the shit. Leopard Seals are my new favorite.
Just in case you haven’t seen this yet: Wolf Totem by The Hu (Mongolian Folk Metal).
If you’re a writer and you love jewelry you need to check out LionessElise on Etsy. I have four of her pendants and I absolutely love her work.
I make jewelry and shiny things that make people want to write.–Lioness
Arsenal 4 by Cedar Sigo.
1915: The Trenches by Conrad Aiken.
Central Visayan Mountain Range, Philippines 1945 by Angela Peñaredondo.
Photo by NOAA on Unsplash
My reflections and I
plot the points of our knees
like stars scratched in the floor,
we can’t hold summer
in our flimsy hands.
I lean my head against the point where two mirrors join together in a museum exhibit and suddenly I am one girl split into three. This is educational. This is sacred division. I whisper softly to us but they don’t answer my prayers for rescue, escape. I can only mimic their arms with my arms and I cannot decipher the secret within our bodies.
The rough stars
I look into the mirrors and there are girls who wear my face but not my memories. I look into the mirrors, I look at us and I am so happy that at least some of us are free. When I stand they turn their backs to me and greet their secret, intangible worlds. I cannot go with them when I walk away.
This poem was first published in Atlas Poetica in 2015 and republished in my collection Lupercalia.
Photo by Serrah Galos on Unsplash
drunk on that
a little piece of
that July highway
a little relief
Found Poem: pages 45-72 of Trash by Dorothy Allison.
This poem was first published in my collection Lupercalia.
Photo by Mariana Vusiatytska on Unsplash
My poetry is about finding lost things.
If drinking makes you sick, don’t drink.
Find a clean puddle and dip your cup in that; drink the moon on the water.
My grandmother never wanted my grandfather to leave (he was an alcoholic). She had one sister who thought she was prettier than everyone else. Her grave has dead plants on it. And pink marble.
My poetry is about falling across the road as a bloody smear and making a new boundary, a new border.
My poetry is about an imaginary map.
I was born alone.
Wild roses are my favorite.
My poetry is about rotting and returning to the earth.
This post is inspired by Bhanu Kapil’s Blog
Photo by Felipe Santana on Unsplash
The wind stops.
the waves are far away.
Photo by Chris Galbraith on Unsplash