Yunes were human once. / They nursed babies and baked bread and made love beneath the shade of the willow tree. / Then they were drowned in the bog on the edge of town. / The marshlands kept them flawless. / Their skin tanned tight as a drum skin, sealing their spirits inside like caged dogs.
the birdcage is gasproof I have an important message for you the birds are wired /
peace is blind as teargas love your lungs will not collapse but swell
We went into the garden to pick out a poison blocker / We saw fish mint / A lizard’s tail / A chameleon plant / Your heartleaf / My fishwort
Vast plates shifted littler ones / with constant sounds and heat terrible / Then there was a cleft and so a river
“In her twilight years,” as she calls them, / My second mother languishes.
Fabulous talkers in Penelope Lively’s The Purple Swamp Hen and Other Stories
A bestiary of human proportions in Elena Passarello’s Animals Strike Curious Poses
“Poetry is contested space, and the battles about what is allowed to go in and stay out are important.”
I am getting so used to this island it’s becoming like second nurture to me.
That winter the city was full of ravens.
“It’s so important to make your own little specks of peace around you. It’s a matter of being an idiot.”
Leonard changed lanes without using his blinker, as was his habit.
Woodchuck was wandering on a path through woods one day when his leg caught in some vines.
A selection of photographs and videos from June Kim’s Wolf series, 2009-2012.
Yisrael K. Feldsott on the river in all of us, spiritual medicine and living with Hell’s Angels.
Unlike me, our neighbor Joubert didn’t share my fear of visitors.