“I’m sad,” I tell her, looking for analog in a world of constant digital connection. “I know,” she said, “you used to write great letters, too, and you know a lot of people, but you just need your roots.” “Go outside and listen,” my mother advises. Outside, I see all the life looking for hands, all the […]Read more "go outside and listen"
Thank you to everyone who joined us on August 19 for the PDXX Collective reading at the Waypost. Here are our writers!Read more "Reading at the Waypost"
living so close to nature nature is forced to live too close to us barking, braying, biting animals on wheels endless animals — ourselves and others crushed beneath the treads in the desert, murderers steal her name slip into the crown of Isis, an empty throne a horned sun, a winged kite play-pretend at Calipha […]Read more "birding / breakage"
There are these mornings, when the bus ride is like waking up third world or secondary planet or first fledgling nightmare. Backpack upon briefcase. Every configuration of facial hair and body musk—last night’s alcohol bleeding through perfume, students and corporate office warriors battling the commute and headache and weariness, armed with nothing but burnt coffee […]Read more "Ride"
I sat waiting for my lunch to be ready. Closing my eyes, the sun warming me, honing in on nearby conversations. “It was just awful!” “Do you want to meet later?” “We have to get back soon.” “What are you hungry for?” And then, “Think of a Chinese word you’d like to see written.” Two […]Read more "Characterized As Vulnerable"
She never hails me friendly over the fence, it is always a conspiracy. She clucks my name quietly from her garden like a secret, her tight curly hair, a dark comb and cape. “Can you hear the boys crowing?” she asks, a pained apology in her eyes. “I didn’t know what they were, but now […]Read more "nested"
memory is paper . . . a thin veil against light scribbled on colored in (sk)etched out painstakingly noted between thin blue and thick red dashes indications of lines to cut, lines to stay within. written rubbered stamped erased embellished boldened copy / paste. stained concentric circular rings starting then stopping time with morning coffee […]Read more "memory is paper"
So, today—well, it’s like everyday, but sometimes more connective than others. A small sea of tables wait quietly and orderly in the dining room. Glinting glassware waiting to be filled. Empty tables waiting for me to wait. Every newly seated table is a microcosm, a little world unto itself. Walking up is a quick study’s […]Read more "Order Up: Memoirs of a Waitress"
when i couldn’t speak she drew me a circle there were no words to communicate the shape i didn’t understand but her circle did not close and it turned outward on itself and i was sad to see it stop. she called it “spiral” and i begged for her to complete it until it reached […]Read more "ex nihilo"
In the world, there is forever fever: We read the signs, blazing in historic orange. We straddle our majestic fates, ride our caution horses up to the edge, and prepare ourselves to be known, We drop our weapons in the dust, and unveil with the other prairie dogs—a global disrobal. We read too much tar […]Read more "Exquisite Cognomen or “How to Name Our Pain”"