Category: creative writing
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casting stones For Maribel Trujillo-Diaz, deported last week to Mexico In the dark before dawn the birds sang as Maribel was snatched off the streets by ICE agents— her four American-born children, ages 3, 10, 12, and 14, never got to say goodbye to their mother In Fairfield she worked processing chicken parts primary breadwinner…
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Happy rebirth-day to me I don’t know the actual date of my rebirth-day. It was a Monday, the day after Easter, 2012. I suppose I could easily google it, but I prefer to let the day float in time, tied forever to the anchor of Easter. I wanders through time the way the ancients believed…
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This morning, there’s a fresh breeze, carrying pollen and dreams of what tomorrow might hold. It’s Easter, which is the day before my personal “rebirth” day. Tomorrow is my fifth rebirth-day. Five years ago today, I was dragging. I had woken in the night with yet another charlie horse in my right calf. I felt…
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anxiety field notes, entry 1. What you resist, persists so, if you RESIST anxiety, it will PERSIST? What you resist, you bury. What you bury gets stuck. It persists! Some things cannot be buried. (Most things, actually.) Seeds can, and should be. Seeds grow. Flowers should not be buried, if you want to watch them…
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Dear Tich Naht Hahn Dear Tic Nat Hhan Dear Thich Nhat Hanh, I mislaid your address and even the foreign mystery of the spelling of your name in the explosion. The girls’ school papers and award certificates, sheet music, lithographs, photo albums, love letters from my father to my mother, jars full of buttons and…
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Warm up! Write eleven three-line poems about things you see right where you are, right now. Eleven Miniature Poems, March 25, 2017 1 |Roots The cutting in the windowsill vase is shooting out roots but it cannot grow there forever 2 | Fur Cordelia is striped, like a tyger burning bright descendant of some fierce…
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What I did not know, in my greenness, was that you cannot shed your wildness like a snake sheds her skin. The wildness is inside, part of you.
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It′s a day to remember America was not great back when you were a white child in the white suburbs outside Toledo, in a brand-new tract home in a place called Sylvania.
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I’m going to say it straight out. Somebody’s going to die tomorrow. Actually, I’m sure, lots of somebodies will die, but there’s one in particular that I’m thinking of tonight. Nothing lasts forever. Joy comes, and goes. Seasons come, and go. Grief comes and goes, too. Whole countries, entire species, blazing stars in the sky—…
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