Category Archives: journal

evergreen

this is exactly what I love:

early mist, morning in the woods
nothing in particular to do but float in solitude,
thinking fondly of loved ones
and the sacred distance from and between them.

Kote chewing tall grass
curious peacocks and one-footed hens
startled doves, and no feathers on the ground
tiny pink and white spring petals where I expected them
mosses and lichens, green on the side of everything
collecting lilac and cedar bows,
a care-filled gesture
bundled and wrapped tight and loosely
in cottons, wools, and silk
hole in the boot as usual
and carrying Sofia’s scent of some fire
her smell of knowledge
tinctures and drinking and dancing
she knows all the plants of the Pacific Northwest
our home, our evergreen.

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mishreya

I have decided to accept that life is just going to be a series of portions.


apologies for the orange paper

poor orange,
weird and misplaced

yellow, quieter
gentler, bright
innocent and polite

not like green
bold, fantastic, everything
all the patterns in life

red, my god
hell, sex and hunger
blissful heat, passion and fire

and blue
the big
deep
ocean
that’s it

hey brown
murky, muddy
dirt and wood

there’s grey
all slate and industry
exaulting, cities
lonely and beautiful

white, bright light
cotton, wind and lace

and black
perfect
black.

(ohwoops, purple. how we always seem to forget you)


let the night be dark

broken bone,
the body is pain
I met you, leaving the light on
heavy heart
veins hung on hands
as lonely tangled banners
letting out that heavy lovin’ shit
a broken heart build is slow

broken bones, I know your body is pain

let the night be dark
you won’t forget your light on

woodsmoke, fall air
I know you ain’t used to it
empty cabinets, fingers over
father’s strings
I know you ain’t used to it

let the night be dark,
you won’t forget to leave your light on


whitefeather

What? What? What?

The next morning I awoke early, dreadful breathing sighs into chamomile tea. I walked to work, tears breaking as waves. Later we drove to the site of your crash, where your family was already gathered. The sun was high and hot. We listened and walked as members of your tribe lead us from the end point, where your car came to rest. Back through where you tumbled and spit shards of glass and plastic, back, back where the grass was barely bent, to where you swerved off Old Olympic Highway. There weren’t even marks on the road. Back to the point where twenty-feet-further-you-wouldn’t-have-rolled. And we faced your mother while elders sang your spirit safely to the other side. I saw you laying in the field, pulling up grass and laughing.

I was dehydrated and head throbbing, numb. Oren bought us sandwiches and drove us to a bluff where we sat in the open hatchback shaded by trees. He made jokes and distractions; scooping up pebbles of time, and tossing them gently behind me.


where the ‘h’ is

thank you for the eggs I made for breakfast
thank you for the strong coffee

thank you for the only slightly windy beach
the barefootable sand, plentiful and randomly clapping barnacles
piles and piles of grooved blue muscles
we could eat forever

thank you for the dog dates,
naked board games, work visits and beer
thank you for taking me shooting up Black Diamond Road
and for letting me decide not to shoot

thank you for the warm bed,
the slugs and the frogs at night
thank you for braiding my hair, and talking shit

thank you for the empty house to write in
even though I didn’t write.


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