Showing results for 2020
And oh god it’s wonderful sitting here, drinking too much coffee, eating too many pastries, and loving everything about this moment.
Crystal S. Gibbins
She never sticks around for harvest (though she convinced you to plant rosemary, lavender, zinnias, to think of time as a full moon, as a thrush’s song), you’ll say, but O the planting season. The spry seedlings at the start.
Still, he wants me to keep strutting down my freak lane, says “Gucci” like “Coochie” on “White Freckles”.
Always, I am navigating some half-abandoned landscape— part future, part past. Whenever I have a companion, it is my ex husband—the man who, after our divorce seven years ago, moved states away, leaving me to raise our kids mostly solo. On this particular morning, it finally occurs to me that these dreams may not be normal.
My brother always comments on how big the sky is in my little stretch of western Kentucky. We crane our necks and peer at the sickle moon, the unblinking stars.