Poet friend, Beth Myhr, named the experience perfectly by writing that the pandemic has taken away our ability to look forward – “…moving from one room to the next in a house with no door.” Yes, that’s it, exactly. And I remember the longevity advice … Continue reading Somewhere, Over the Pandemic
I seek relief in Bon Secour National Wildlife Refuge on the day Trump tells four women of color to go back to where they came from. I walk the gravelly path, canopies of live oaks and loblollies shading the way – cicadas in full song … Continue reading Monkeywrenching in Lower Alabama and Other Confessions
I am weary of my worn out sentences that begin with “I” – those crutches I lean on while the voice of an old writing instructor lets slip from the corner of her mouth, a grimace – her clear indication of disappointment, and perhaps this … Continue reading Rock-Making
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