for the widows in paradise

the night found me, a room of my own in a sky of moon and tree shadow, and i stopped my dishes, looked up into stars which scripture says he’s counted and that’s when i heard it, as lentils stuck to soup bowl, rice hardened white, and hands aged with the...

the life that seems to giggle

it happens as husband asks over fried fish, potatoes, “do you ever think babies speak in tongues?” (son singing to his fork, to his hand, to the sky)it happens as i lie in the bath of bubble, seeing nothing but poke of knee and womb, and i’m tracing...

Guest Post: Flower Patch FarmGirl

(lovely shannan martin of flower patch farmgirl is writing a novel–a novel!–and i asked the amazing mother of three to lend some insight on how she balances mama-hood with writing.)On Thanksgiving day, I had an epiphany. I used to remember exactly how it...

a certain kind of quiet

there’s a certain kind of quiet that hides in sun on snow, wind on branch and bunny in armsa kind of quiet that becomes very sacred when it enters the citywe sit in the restaurant eating our fries, our quesadillas, and we’re on a date, staying the night in...