Recent Posts
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First, find your people. Build a connection that can last, even thrive! through being cut or uprooted picked apart dried out scalded and steeped. This, will take some time. Build a connection. Whether grown in a garden, or a pot in your window whether you sit with them in the forest or find them in
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A beautiful town, the conservationists say – they say the forests here host the most biodiversity east of the Mississippi. I know this to be true. I spent time with the orange newts, climbed the tall trees, made potions from water drawn from forgotten stone wells. Dug deep once, now filled with decades of mud
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Hello. My name is Grief. Come in. Have you been tested recently? Let me see. Oh, aren’t you a dirty thing? Look at all that you are plagued by, stark and lifeless on the page. Now, take off your clothes. Consent form? There is no such thing here. Only the promise that it’s all going
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after Hammond B3 Organ Cistern by Gabrielle Calvocoressi. Big thanks to Desiree Dallagiacomo for introducing me to this poem. Every moment I do not feel like I am dyingis extraordinary. A slowly rotting nut encased inside a shiny, bright candy coating. Savor the bits still true to form.it surprises me! How the thick, fragrant steam
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CW: suicidal ideation and a suicide attempt I It is four o’clock in the morning my soul is chatty and will not be denied. I am ducked under the blanket with the phonelight, sleeping 7 year old limbs strewn sweetly across my body. Mom forgot and left the heat off again in my petulant battle
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Big gratitude to Lake, and Dragonfly Nymph, for their teachings. Yesterday, I ruptured. Broken open by a poet, and something that had been hatching. Things were different again. Yesterday, I thought to myself: a few months ago I was caterpillar soup. Today, I am a butterfly who cannot escape their cocoon. How did my mode
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Memory becomes present reality as wind caresses my sun-seared skin. They’re here, in the way water wraps around us, The sounds we made, the way they knew just how to handle us, how to coax from us our submission. The epic of how they fucked us written in goose bumps across our skin. If you
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There are secrets hidden under finger nails. I have never been good at keeping my own secrets, by design. I keep the secrets of others securely tucked beneath my toe nails, which have never been the bedfellows of my teeth. My sixth sense is in my finger tips. I have been chewing away their armor
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My feet are doing all the talking today. Leaving this tongue, this breath, these lips idle. Please come, fill my time. For we know what comes of idle hands. Please come, check my ticks. These old forgotten boardwalks squelch in the moist forest mud. I salivate. So many sordid thoughts. I am Water’s plaything, begging,
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You can watch a video of a performance of this poem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=94rB9NgNuiU This poem was featured in the Brackish: Backwoods Kinship Zine. When a Meat Hen is Ready for Slaughter They can barely walk Much less fly. But watch them try Their wings remember their foremothers Flight They are Bred for consumption. This is
Lilith Rising 