The girl with a fighting chance
Paying attention to all of it reminds me that I am of the world. It’s easy for me to live in my head. And while I enjoy retreating there — and need to sometimes because the world can feel too crowded — ultimately it untethers me in a bad way. I need to be in my body.
Snow geese with a side of Mary Oliver
They brought me the sort of joy I hadn’t felt in a while, and it caught me off guard. It seemed like a gift. Yes, I understand it to be a chance encounter that had nothing to do with me, but I came away from it feeling more dreamy than I had in months.
Curious and beautiful
It’s the episode in which I throw a bunch of tantrums and grow deeply resentful. It isn’t pretty, but it’s my stubborn process of relearning lessons. Like this: if I don’t claim my own space, I’m useless to everyone.
A poem in which the poet wears a red dress for the apocalypse or whatever
Here / trying to enact what they mean when they say Let’s cross over. / If I write about the butterfly you’ll think I want to be one But who are you
In the face of everything
Do you believe in synchronicity? We’ve been writing about gatekeepers, and this card appeared in my mail along with a deck of tarot-type cards I’d ordered: “The gatekeepers are gone. You are the one who will open the door to your dreams.”
A poem about the trouble with November
Who am I in all this / to feel love so abundant? This morning, a tree / on my lawn catches the sun. It sits in bare branches / like a bright ball of yarn I want to keep in a basket / even though I can make nothing of it.
A poet and an astrophysicist walk into a room…
My question for Nicholson was, when it’s time to steer Cassini straight into Saturn, will you feel sad? Will you miss it? Leave it to a poet to want to understand the depth of our attachments.
