A Blog of Seattle Arts & Lectures
i don’t think i’m good at grieving. not my dead friend, not the versions of me that i’ve grown out of, and especially not the life i had before. i’ve been sitting here for thirty seven minutes...
prayer is when you’re fourteen years old riding the bus home from a protest that ended two hours too late and the cops running after your friends because when you’re sitting in that bus seat hummi...
Hemlockwing In my sleeping, midnight wings unfold they are ragged, dusty, like the silencing cobwebs that stir in my breath the darkness is my mooring my ship is the resurrection of a lost dream thoug...