When she was a girl she built a treehouse in the giant maple. She wanted to be high up, above the earth. There she lay on the wooden platform, looking up into the green leaves. She carved her name on a limb and watched as, over the years, the tree fattened around her initials, finally … Continue reading – and hid his face among a crowd of stars
She was twenty years old, living in Taipei for half a year with the intention of improving her Chinese. The city was large and gray and crowded. Pungent smells of cooking oil and stirfry and garbage filled the humid air. It was a city of narrow streets, crooked buildings, packed buses and haphazard sidewalks onto … Continue reading Living in a Rock and Roll Fantasy
your own PDK for writing
a collection of beautiful words.....
Objects, Memory and Meaning
If it can't be said in a hundred words, then it can't be said in a thousand.
sewing a handmade wardrobe
“My mother is a poem I’ll never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to my mother.” ~ Sharon Doubiago
The Good Things Black People Do, Give and Receive All Over The World
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Thoughts on the world around me
the literary asylum
Bipolar is my superpower
