From Authors

Doing time

My son has a yellow plastic clock that I bought in a futile attempt to ready him for kindergarten. It has a face with big numbers and hands but no mechanism—you must use your fingers to mark the time, and once you do, you are already late. A second has passed. Now, two. A storyteller…

Slowingly

  Time races by Like a child Run amok   Splashing at puddles Wishing for luck   I anticipate Cells slowing As they will   Urgency and dread builds Then dissipates   I search for breath and breadth To fill me   With presence and peace   Not so pressingly Now   As I am…

And then

I keep waiting for inspiration to write on the theme “slow.” The only things that come to mind are clichés: slowing down in a sped-up world; staying present in an era of distractions; the art of doing nothing. None of this feels fresh. Frankly, slow is not sexy. The number one rule of writing is…

Just add water

The squeaky clunk of metal in rapid succession has become a routine part of my morning soundtrack. It is as if I am attempting CPR on the “Push for Signal” button, which metaphorically is not too far from the truth. I am trying to revive my morning by getting my kids to school on time…

The anguish of waiting

  I am, by nature, enormously impatient. I always stop the microwave with two seconds left. I just cannot wait for those two beats before devouring my warmed food. I often shoot off a text—or worse, an email—too early, not having the patience to give it a quick glance before pressing send. I cannot stand…

You Must Be This Tall to Ride

I wonder what it takes To ride the Tilt-o-Whirl from one inch below the line. A new set of boots? A fast fiver? A diversion? A boost so sly That a fluff of puffy hair Or solid boot heels Could mean the difference between Seeing the world And not being quite good enough Or are…

The case for inefficiency

A sigh escapes my lips as I bend over to stack the white ceramic plates in the cabinet. He’s doing it again. His comfortable warmth sidles up next to me, the soft plaid brushing my arm, as he leans in to set the matching bowls tidily in their place. Working together, the dishwasher is emptied…

The time we do have

“I know you’re busy.” My 81-year-old friend says this to me as I’m leaving his new apartment. He doesn’t drive anymore, so we moved him into town to be closer to church and the bakery and the bank. Places he can walk. Places where everyone knows his name and he theirs. His second day in…

The root of the problem

It happens here every spring. As leaves break bud and flowers bloom, people are struck with inspiration to plant fruit trees. Summer seems so close at hand, and visions of sun-warmed peaches replace sugarplums dancing in their heads. Local gardening forums are filled with requests for advice on what varieties of cherry do best here…

Simon Alexander

How did I watch Her soft hands pull his stiff body closeto dress his purple skin Still cold from the hospital fridge  How did I watch Her face split with horrorwhen she realized his armswould not bend Not even For his mother    SARAH currently lives and works in Edmonds, Washington. She would describe herself as painfully shy by nature…

Flicker of hope

  Like many people wanting “more” out of life, I am often in search of the thing that will be the answer. Recently, I’ve been finding feathers everywhere. Mostly crow feathers. The internet tells me that this a sign that I am being protected and am not alone. When I asked my energy worker during…

Brave enough to break it open

In the past two months, I have lost my home, my possessions, my job, and my church. I’m not a natural disaster victim. I didn’t do anything wrong. My partner didn’t leave me or die. All of these losses were voluntary. I lost them in order to gain something far more precious: my health. Allow…

People are presents

It was a calm afternoon, when suddenly someone knocked on our door. My younger brother immediately got up and opened the door, thinking that some friends came to visit us. But instead, one unknown man stood there, wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt. We all were looking at him, wondering whether we have ever…

You’re braver than you believe

Piglet and I have something in common. More than our affinity for red scarves and the fact that I often turn his shade of pink this time of year. Piglet and I are often afraid. “Oh d-d-d-dear!” I believe I was almost 25 when I first realized that fear had far too much say in…

Poetry of the body (performed)

COURAGE AS A FRAGMENT and THE FRAGMENT AS COURAGE (Faith in the fracture – the bravery of ignoring a/the whole) A Performance* of Cowardice (those elusive fragments of bravery) in poetry and of running hard. *Poetry is already a performance of the labor of words and so to add the body to it we have,…

This week, I found my voice

The thing about catalysts is that they aren’t necessarily loud or obvious or explosive or expected. They can arise out of a variety of places and they can change your life without warning or care for your needs. A catalyst causes reaction. It is the mixture of two disparate objects or notions never likely on…

.This is my blood too.

After I broke the vaseAnd the candle in it too My sister said,“This isn’t like you.”   But isn’t it?Isn’t this me too?This unpleasant sideThat grabs for any object it can throw.   Isn’t this me too?Furious.Shattering my lungsWith high-pitched screams And shallow hums.   Isn’t this me too?The broken glass on the carpet that…

Your own brave life

You are the hero of your own BRAVE life. You  may think you have failed. But no. Your supposed failures are, in truth, the little horrors you subject yourself to in order to see more clearly, the heroic failures of others and of yourself, so that you may be able to accept them graciously for…

To the Bibi that I love

She looked after me when I could not look after myself. She was capable to understand the struggles that I was facing without me saying a word. She was never afraid to lend a hand to anyone in need. She was never afraid to stand up for what is right. She put others’ needs before…