I hung the lonely pirate today, on the wall in my office. My mom bought it for me when she and Henry went to the Farnsworth Museum the spring before she got sick. She bought it for me because she said she thought of me when she saw it. The pirate looks defeated and...
As I reflect on the transition we are making from Spring to Summer, I think of how incredibly affected I am by the seasons. In fact, the manuscript of poems I am revising now is organized through the natural cycles of day and night, the seasons, and aging. Here are...
I grew up in the south end of Seattle during the seventies. My childhood home was on 38th street, a block made up of Black families, a Filipino family and two white families – mine being one of them. 38th street sat on the impoverished edge of Mt. Baker’s wealthiest...
Though I finished reading Wild by Cheryl Strayed more than a week ago, I’m still mesmerized by the courage and determination it took for her to hike the Pacific Crest Trail all alone. But what has really stuck with me is the process of finding yourself through...
Are we writers or women who write? Ten of us gathered for the 2013 Oaxaca Women’s Creative Writing and Yoga Retreat (link to http://wp.me/p1v1Ek-3Aa) in Oaxaca, Mexico, last week and revisit this question repeatedly during the eight days we are together. Our...
These rocking chairs speak to me. They say “Sit a while, be still. Stop worrying about the future. You can’t predict how it’s all going to turn out.” But, I feel chaotic right now. I think there’s a turning point coming in my life and I’m overwhelmed by the...
