XOXO

(I have no idea if the purple flowers I saw were actually heal-alls but I am always itching for good omens) 

I sometimes look out at birds and wish I was them. And mountains

Oh, the mountains, 

Sending tears down their slopes 

            rippling and shaking 

You’re halfway there

The overlook is worth it

Mud-lined and alive 

Breathing

Smooth rock beneath slick shoes, slipping 

Beds of

sometimes I read my old writing and I think, god, she really let the cringe jump out there, and other times I think with definitive certainty, I will never be able to write words so beautiful ever again. words will never leave me like that again. 

it’s been so long since I’ve written.

I think the words bled out slowly, left my mouth high and dry with an aftertaste of bitterness (I chew gum to keep it out).

I

The evening began as it always did on these occasions. As our moms set popcorn and brownies on the green countertops, they warned us that they would be back to pick us up early the next morning. My cousins and I grumbled and argued that the next day would be Saturday, and we wanted to stay longer. It never mattered how well we argued our case, my mom and my aunt would be back at the first ray of daylight with my Grandpa’s pancakes barely off the pan (he always made pancakes and still does

When I look back at my time with the Women’s Center, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. After three years, the time seems to blur slightly. The things I do recall are fewer specific moments and more themes of constancy—unvarying inspiration, exploration, and vulnerability. 

I remember, after months of feeling lost and insecure as a first year, a phone call with Mary about my application to Iris. It was supposed to be an interview, and while I can’t pinpoint exactly