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
Poetry Ptuesday: Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell
Poetry Ptuesday: The Night Migrations by Louise Gluck
This is the moment when you see again the red berries of the mountain ash and in the dark sky the birds’ night migrations. It grieves me to think the dead won’t see them– these things we depend on, they
Poetry Ptuesday: The Thing Is by Ellen Bass
to love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it and everything you’ve held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, your throat filled with the silt of it. When grief sits with you, its