Poetry Ptuesday: Becoming American by Vern Rutsala

The Yankees needed ditch diggers, sandhogs, fodder for the wild hunger of their mills and sent out invitations with no RSVPs. My people came then, dimly knowing they had to cut away the baggage of the selves they brought with

Poetry Ptuesday: The Meaning of Life by Nancy Fitzgerald

[This week’s poem arrives later than usual, my apologies. Tomorrow would have been Amanda’s 35th birthday. It is the third one after she killed herself. I always wonder about that. Did she think of how many more birthdays she would

Ace That Test: The Civics Test for U.S. Naturalization

Okay, so y’all know Ace That Test was a real thing with my late sister Amanda. And though I didn’t receive as much formal schooling, and generally fared worse considering the whole of our academic careers, my sister and I

Poetry Ptuesday: The Journey by Mary Oliver

On day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice– though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my

Poetry Ptuesday: Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

[Desiderata: something considered necessary or highly desirable.] ***** Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth

Starting Today: Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng

I started this yesterday but I heard you can go on the internet and lie 😉   Here are the first lines:   “Lydia is dead. But they don’t know this yet. 1977, May 3, six thirty in the morning,

Final Lines Friday: Salt Houses by Hala Alyan

Earlier this week I finished Salt Houses, finally. Can y’all believe I started it at the end of March?! Nevertheless, here it is, the final lines:   “The song alights within Alia, a remembering akin to joy. Her mother’s garden,

Poetry Ptuesday: Wonder by Maya Angelou

A day drunk with the nectar of slowness weaves its way between the years to find itself at the flophouse of night to sleep and be seen no more.   Will I be less dead because I wrote this poem

Poetry Ptuesday: In This Story by Caitlyn Siehl

in this story, your mother isn’t the villain. in this story, you find a way to pick the lock, to wake up, to climb out of the tower yourself. in this story, you’re angry. in this story, you meet a

300th Post! YES it’s about PLANTS!

Well, looky here, my our this blog’s 300th post! I have been extraordinarily busy and very absent on this blog, but we still made it to 300! I don’t have any of the more time-consuming serial posts ready yet, so

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