One of my very first classes as a Freshman in college was called “Dialogue.” It was a required class where we read material like Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail,”…
inspiration
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The newly planted Hosta grows tall toward the ceiling in an orange terracotta pot just a shade off from the color of the wall above the fireplace. The dishwasher hums and swishes.…
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This is something I don’t really like to talk about. I don’t like to talk about it because I am reaching and hoping and grieving for the loss of a reality that…
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The broken window in the attic bangs inside the window frame as the wind from the storm passes through. My sleep is restless. I hear intermittent sirens and voices that sound like…
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We are entering the mutable. The sacred. We are living that porous, fluid time between time- el entretiempo. I was making a fall playlist for my sister and started playing around with…
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Hermione is being tortured. I stay and listen as long as I can before turning the key. The voices end abruptly. My car door slams and I begin my day, walking across…