Their emotional lives are snow globes, these women, perpetually watching the dust settle.
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None of them had wallets or cell-phones or any ID. Just Viking stuff.
All forewords are, in part, efforts to sell, rather than illuminate.
He slung a discarded western saddle over his left shoulder, strong and sculpted, suspending a billow of dust over our path to an open air dining hall.
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."
The knock had happened on one of those other days, where the date reigned over its little space on the calendar's grid, no appointments, no holiday, a day that had entered with morning and frayed into dusk but that still bore its numeral in case anyone came back to fill it with something in retrospect.
Whereas hope gloms onto a time, witness is timeless.
It was big deal when I saw Chicano Batman. Because of what we were singing together. Thinking together. Organizing together. Celebrating together.
95 years ago, on February 18, 1931, Chloe Wofford was born on the shores of Lake Erie in Lorain, Ohio.
Narrative threads are less linear than they are synaptic.
Well not only
did this coffee cost me more
than the other Subway
and not only was it a smaller
cup but look at how much
they filled it.
Me and the other jerks scrolling on the train, we're not summoning anything.
When the smell of blood spreads out here, it's bound to spread out there.
Here is Woolf at her most unvarnished, obsessed, her most playful and silly and unpolished and free.
"I prompt: A Black woman's hand near drawer" (onscreen, I receive three fingers, two thumbs, a foot made of fingers lurking, an unseen crouching body on top of the dresser)
In the effort of poetry to communicate, it must always deal in the dirty commodity of the word.