Today I spell Relief with a capital R. I write her big-named, big-boned, and bolded. She empties my chest of bars, operas my throat with song. Today, I let her sing up space. I raise myself above the background noise. I let life be life, but I pull the good stuff a little closer. I know the good stuff and the bad stuff is all … Continue reading 100 / Relief
Powdered sugar and painted light, I wish us all a warm-soul night. Painted dream, and powdered day, I wish us all a love-blessed way. Continue reading 30. boop
Midnight is sneaking up on me, crouching in the day’s edges, waiting to pounce. I should be writing but instead I turn to rock, sinking my story-spin into frozen-earth. Stillness comes naturally to the hunted– maybe even more naturally than run. Wait feels safer than chase. The gravel of me wears a wedding dress of blank page. The vow to write today, and every day, … Continue reading 14. 100 / rock paper cat
Dedicated to my doctor who gets a kick out of my symptom descriptions. My throat feels like a scream trapped in my voice box. Like it was placed in the freezer for a long winter’s keeping. My throat is the piece of the sofa that can no longer find its shape. Inside my mind, a child is draped over an office chair, spinning and spinning. … Continue reading 11. 100/ this house creaks
I want a fresh pineapple every morning until the floaties in my eyes have been eaten away. I want a better name for pangolins, and two lush plants that do not need a single thing beyond my daily unchecked adoration. I want to live inside an acorn with plush carpeting the color of meadows, and to wear a dress of lace so fine that it … Continue reading 3. 100 / unreasonable accommodation
Sometimes my hope is a pebble in my shoe, imprinting into my sole. When it shows up like this, I snap at the sky, threatening the clouds. I think it might be heavy enough to sink me, but it never does: it quickens me, slows me. Makes me think about where I put my weight and why. Sometimes my hope is a pebble in my … Continue reading 100 / sedimentary
If I were to leave my body behind for the night, I wouldn’t go far. I would hover; wrap her in company. If the pain stayed with sinew, I would sing songs, full-bodied. I would float in them; fight to memorize. Maybe she would remember in the morning. If the pain stayed with me, I would still fold close. I would look at her resting, … Continue reading 100 / for the night
The fogless mirror in the shower catches a cloud and for the first time, I cannot stare back into my own eyes while drifting into steam-drenched think. A droplet peels from the rind of the showerhead and I see my full self in it; upside-down, tiny. At the gallery, there are mirrors everywhere. A clay bowl reflects just in front of itself, and a boy … Continue reading 100/ exactly what we see
rarasaur 