Dear Woman, I know you are tired Of picking up shit, sitting in shit, putting up with shit Swallowing shit and showing up, again and again. Gaslighted into false spaces of rest, into presenting as if it’s all okay. I know that you have run this marathon far past your finish line Panting through these…

I long for you in the scheduled hours of the day. To swim your rivers. Run the hot and cold of you. The soft and supple, determined and wanting. Ride the trails of you. Ripping worn, familiar paths of wild abandon. Without judgement or fear. Can we sit together? All of us. Away from expectation…

There is a subtle light that flickers in tiny orbits in another’s eyes when they’re speaking. You can follow its path up and over and within, to the way back of themselves as they open the doors and nervously pace the halls inside, searching for the right words to say. I’ve set aside the want…

Subtle shifts re-shape the internal baskets carrying so much weight within. Their handles worn from gripping their delicately woven threads so tight. Their insides wet with wisdom, warm with the nectar one is only rewarded after that harrowing journey Through hallowed hallways and well worn reed walls after months of pacing, gripping, filling, emptying… Lavender…

I walked outside to confide the details of my day with the carpenter bees circling my old pine cabin like a big pollen pie. I talk– about screens and confinement and the want to run my animal body ragged Foraging and digging and splitting while sitting and listening and adjusting– eyes to screen, headphones to…

The bullfrog behind my cabin has returned. He sings deep-throated melodies at dusk that reverberate out and over the river valley. I split oak logs into kindling for the early May frost and listen. I can feel the pain of loss in the depth of his song, the known feeling of holding a thing so…

I walk the perimeter of my yard considering the layers of time underneath. I start at my toes, the curvature of my ankles, the scars and freckles that dot my calves and thighs. The history of this body, the generations of stories buried within. There seems to come right steady a next day, next year,…

We rise. Remember. Rage. We plant our feet to mats in prayer. Our feet to pedals. Feet to concrete and take off, so far and so fast. We are so fast. The past won’t even see us. Maybe we’ll outrun it. Out smart it. Out do it with all our new language and systems. We…

Six months at best he said, yet time feels irrelevant to me. We went places emotionally I’ve never been with people I’ve known half my life. Twelve and a half weeks was all I held her, yet nine months later I can still hear her heart beat. The size of a fig…. The lifespan of…