Raw Earth Ink
spit, mixed with dirt – muddy words flow
Tag: Prose
Through The Window
The first time she climbed through my bedroom window in the middle of the night I was ten and she was eight. She didn’t say anything, just clung to me beneath my purple unicorn blanket and quivered. I wrapped my arms around her and… Continue Reading “Through The Window”
So Small for a Love So Large
When I held him in my arms, he was so small. So small. I cried oh god how I cried. I asked, is there anything we can do? The doctor said, I’m sorry no, he’s just too small. I cried harder. Please, I’ll do… Continue Reading “So Small for a Love So Large”
Memories in Withdrawal
When they placed him in my arms, he weighed nothing at all I didn’t even know how to hold him The moment I looked into his face, I felt something burst and bloom in my heart Something I had never felt before and never… Continue Reading “Memories in Withdrawal”
Cathedral
Her heart is a cathedral. Bright stain-glassed windows, each a story to tell. So her own story is mapped out in ink across her breast. The entrance, tall imposing doors, not easily opened with gargoyles guarding each side, lips raised in stark, snarling warning.… Continue Reading “Cathedral”
The Release of Shame
When I was in high school, Jeremiah was my best friend. I lived the farthest away from that rural school than anyone else, over in the next town. Every school morning my mom would drive me the mile from our house to the elementary… Continue Reading “The Release of Shame”
Video: 08 Jan 2020 Trickling Water Over Sea Ice
It was cold. Really cold. In fact, it hadn’t been over negative Fahrenheit for over a month, and it was only January. Winter lasts a long time in Alaska. It would be another two months before it would raise past single digits. Just a… Continue Reading “Video: 08 Jan 2020 Trickling Water Over Sea Ice”
Hatch
tiny dragon sits and waits patiently biding her time curled up within her safe shell of blue with dark uneven spots she rests not in a nest of twigs and leaves or pebbles and mud but instead upon my tongue sometimes I roll her… Continue Reading “Hatch”
