The Things I Cannot See – Aria Dominguez The corner store went up in flames, and he talked about it for weeks. An armada of fire engines, lights flashing: a two year-old’s dream. The smoke, the steam, the frozen spray coating the trees, bushes, and house next door. Then the shell was demolished, yet more … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Aria Dominguez
Little Horse – W.S. Merwin You come from some other forest do you little horse think how long I have known these deep dead leaves without meeting you I belong to no one I would have wished for you if I had known how what a long time the place was empty even in my … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by W.S. Merwin
“Bees’ eyes can pick up much of what ours can, but in addition they can see a wavelength of light, a color, impossible for us to perceive.” (Philip Hilts) You often wondered, when your first baby, the boy with the fathomless blue eyes, was born, what was going through his mind. Thoughts that he had … Continue reading "Perhaps this soil is singing"
String Theory – Ed Bok Lee As a boy, I chose a beach ball with a metal chopstick over food & grown-ups What wouldn’t float away despite any mouth Some things choose us Waking in a best friend’s coffin Falling asleep in a too-thin language The slow, inward draw of a lover’s draining dream Feathery … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Ed Bok Lee
Two Countries – Naomi Shihab Nye Skin remembers how long the years grow when skin is not touched, a gray tunnel of singleness, feather lost from the tail of a bird, swirling onto a step, swept away by someone who never saw it was a feather. Skin ate, walked, slept by itself, knew how to … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Naomi Shihab Nye
Unlike most friends, this friend has been part of your life for as long as you can remember. He figures in your earliest memories, and there hasn’t ever been a stretch of longer than half a year when you haven’t been in his presence. That hat and shirt in the photo to the right stand … Continue reading Portrait of a Friend, Volume IV
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
drink from the well of your self and begin again. -Charles Bukowski
Your Source For 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
