From Guest Contributors

Our guest contributors are kindred spirits who also have the writing bug. Some are dear friends and some are writers we admire but don’t know personally. Their bios are included at the end of their individual articles.

Glory, glory, glory, glorious!

It’s that time of the year—the holidays are upon us. Sometimes the reality of this season is the hustle and bustle of shuffling in and out of department stores and forcing smiles for pictures, when all we are really  looking for is the glorious. As the great Frank Loyd Wright said “Sometimes less is more.”…

Empathetic movement

  Move for me So I can remember what it feels like To be lighter than air and so___  Very sure of limb Move for me In ways my body remembers as if It were today When you hold gravity to task I am fearless once more  &  Free  Resist! These universal laws As ever long…

Life is long

I feel guilty a lot. It’s my go-to. Guilty if I take too much time for myself. Guilty when I don’t feel like picking up my kids for the zillionth time. Guilty when I’m tired. Guilty that I’m not doing more, more, more. Guilt can be good. It can mean regret and we learn. An…

Morning glories

A percolating coffee pot sounds a lot like a person dying of lung cancer trying to breathe. I made this analogy at age 8, sitting in my aunt Sally’s apartment in Springfield, Missouri, surrounded by depressed relatives. “What’s that bubbling sound? It sounds like Granny Anne.” I was just being honest. She died that night…

Winterclung

There’s an orange glow From that moment I held your secrets closeAnd now it’s skipping on the edges the of the waterCatching on the little waves and highlighting the shifting moods The grey of the winter evening is filling with charcoal and will grow blackBut for now the rain is breaking the surface of the lakeIt’s…

Hearth tenders

It’s 3:30 a.m. and I’ve been awake for the last hour. My mind feels restless and a little bored. I’m not anxious, and I don’t remember a dream. At 40 years old, I wonder if I’m waking due to age. But there was no heat or sweating or urgency to visit the toilet. I was…

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…

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…

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 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…

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…

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…