Category: Daily Writing
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a Death Doula on yearning 🎧
I wonder what she is feeling for, what she is noticing, as I talk at her. Because she is a death doula, we often come to the topic of death, which I find equally soothing as the moment she wraps a heavy hot towel around my neck and face.
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Everglazed
… I see the old couple who have their own Saturday routine. The husband always taps the window and waves excitedly at Gigi, not me, to be perfectly clear.
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Silk Walled World
Beside it rests my childhood bear, which doesn’t strike me as odd. Pappy’s glass eyes seem waterlogged, as if they’ve absorbed a thousand tears.
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my Talisman
And my favorite, a piece of selenite (Satin Spar), sacred to Selene, the Greek goddess of the moon.
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You & Ube & the Sky
You can tell who closed efficiently by the neat rows of chairs, angled just so; other mornings it’s chaos, with paper chef hats and chopsticks scattered for squirrels to drag away.
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The Tower and the Boxer
The night before, the electric in my house kept flickering. One room smelled faintly of smoke. “Costly?” I ask, pushing her to continue.
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Last Nine Days of Poetry Sedation
I left poetry books everywhere. On top of the washing machine and on end tables and bookshelves, not stacked neatly.
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Chocolate Berry-Cherry
because goddamnit if we aren’t being the pinnacle of health so we may be lucky to die with our skin still glowing
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Dear Sally 🎧
“Back then, I didn’t say or do anything I really meant, but there’s some amnesia there. I attended parties and holidays, but I couldn’t tell you what I said to anybody, what I gave or what I got. I was afraid, and inside my apparition I thought I was safe.”
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Seven Days of the Sealey Challenge
I diligently read and became entranced by Heather Christle’s The Trees The Trees. Oh, how I saw myself in her roots and her ruthlessness.
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Calm under the waves
The most genuine smile. Her skin, warm-toned like the almonds she kept in a zip-lock bag—raw, unsalted, chewier than I liked. She was the first vegan I ever met. She’d share her soy nuts and say Yummy! like a child. But we were children.
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Tilted
In the distance, a mushroom cloud rises while I’m talking to my mother. “Are we saying goodbye?” I ask, and she tells me to stay inside, take cover.
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hot air & ballrooms
“To coax myself into writing, I sometimes have to start in a completely different place than where I hope to end up.”
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