Bare rail bed, where tracks used to runcarrying ore and dreams of wealthnorth to Slocanbefore heading to the smelter in Revelstoke.The push for expansiona railroad rushing past homesteads in the lush valleypast lonely, wild places deep in the mountains. The path disappears into bright trees far ahead of me.An autumn sun, deliciously hot on my
If you don’t know the work of Susan Andrews Grace, writer, artist, teacher, it’s a good time to discover a poet and a visual artist who has accomplished a significant body of work. Hypatia’s Wake is Susan Andrews Grace’s sixth book of poetry. Author Sylvia Legris has described Grace’s poetry as “…fiercely intelligent with biting
It’s clear we can’t agree On the past, the present and how we came to be Our pain of not being recognized Hurts our decency So we treat one another With complacency space My parents come from war torn countries They didn’t want to leave their homelands, culture, family or friends They left for a
Along the cool sidewalk it crawls across frigid pavement wandering around in this late fall an October caterpillar with no expectations born too late an early expiration space Yet it goes on as if at the dawn of life not worrying of the dire future it simply lives on eats, loves, crawls its bliss is
the simple way we fit together interlocking with the shy mocking femme fatale – You’re butter on a poppyseed bagel or coasters on the coffee table my very own sea raven. you’re gin and tonic on a parching summer’s day a perfectly aged cabernet a prepossessing paramour. heavens sent celestial animation saved me by resuscitation
Trigger warnings: mentions of blood and physical violence. space The monolith in the sky spun tauntingly, shedding bright white light across the misty horizon, the windswept bay, and the briny sea. It was just us two; the sailor and myself. For ten dollars a day, the isolation was worth it, and the quiet was nice. Our
So often do I want for home, for family. Where others seem so happily sheltered by their place and blood, I have long felt transient in both. Houses and kin have been left behind, their memory a mine once rich caved in with time, or burned quite literally to ash. I make wishes through my
I don’t really know what love looks like except for a double-edged sword a qualification if certain a, b, and c conditions are met space I used to make so many excuses for my mother she was young she didn’t have a choice but there came a time when she could have used her voice
This girl is not ready to tell her whole story so she offers it in short words and sentences cryptic phrases and pithy replies she loves stories so much they save her for awhile space She lives in her storybooks because they are safer than ordinary life never makes plans for the future because she
Your sheet silhouettefailing object permanenceIs a warm haunting
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