Their emotional lives are snow globes, these women, perpetually watching the dust settle.
But what they do demand, as Hero does of Ivy, is "someplace where every time we turn around we don't see that damn machine staring at us."
Whereas hope gloms onto a time, witness is timeless.
Narrative threads are less linear than they are synaptic.
Me and the other jerks scrolling on the train, we're not summoning anything.
Here is Woolf at her most unvarnished, obsessed, her most playful and silly and unpolished and free.
In the effort of poetry to communicate, it must always deal in the dirty commodity of the word.
A million-acre wetland of towering oaks, six-foot-deep mud, wolves, and malaria, northwest Ohio was arguably the most inhospitable piece of land in the world.
I apologize in advance for any errors in memory or judgment.
If language mediates reality, then it can be wielded to create new ways of being in the world.
"Forgotten" is written in the calm register of a lecture instead of a scream, which does not diminish its authors' agony.
There are places to look for answers.