Go to homepageWhat if the land had its own language?
No alphabet but steady drone
of grasslands, groan of mountains,
drought-fire’s scream—a drawn-out cry,
hiss of rain, simmer of seeds
stirring restless in the soil
pure presence and process
breaking into the place
made new by cataclysm. National Forest by Alison Hawthorne Deming, excerpt
The rain consumed the people
and left them with empty streets, mud-stained
walls, and roads black with flooding.
There are no ghosts here. They drained away
with the ebbing waters. What is left
is the soft wind off the river and the hum
that comes with the loss of all memory. After the Deluge by Kwame Dawes, excerpt
I steal faces
and keep them in the branches. […]
I embrace a germ of water,
create new ways
to be born into other families
like a small offering. Childhood by Luciana Jazmín Coronado, translated from Spanish by Allison A. deFreese, excerpt
Sometimes I feel I can’t go on like this forever. Often I wonder, when I can’t sleep, what will become of me if I stay this way. Day passes and night comes, yet nothing happens, and I feel a kind of loneliness. My heart seems to be waiting for something. Tokyo Story
Recently watched:
I heard my voice from below:
It called me by my name.
I ran downstairs.
When I arrived, I was dead.
Carrying myself on my back
I climbed up with myself. The Stairs by Ulalume González de León, translated from Spanish by Terry Ehret & Nancy J. Morales, excerpt
But I knew the end, had already been there.
Touched its elongated snout, the awful hairs.
Watched it pushing its pie tin around
the backyard, its tiny crossed eyes so close
to the ground. Ars Poetica by Bridget Lowe, excerpt
it must have believed it would go on living, just as
all of us believe we will go on living
when we say I will die but really mean
here I am, thinking. Boethius’ Body by Jacob Eigen, excerpt
...marvelous explorer of those aspects that our retinas will never record...
...strange, troubling blurs...
...dreams, dreams, dreams, the domain of dreams expands with every step...
From the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York:
I have dreamt in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.
Finished reading: Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.
Night moves at the welter pools.
The summer slips, the winter hoars. […]
One day the rings will slip from our fingers.
But not from yours. Everything
we almost are we lose. My animal,
you cannot know how hard in love you are. Animal by Matthew Hollis, excerpt
The new bruise
on her neck darkened
like a dead flower, her voice
a coffin to carry her dead.
& another friend⸻ & another friend⸻
& today, a new flower grows in my backyard,
& I blow the dust off the videotapes,
& today, my mouth is still wide open. Danger Music by Aldo Amparán, excerpt