I cursed the glass jar that had thrown us together and then prodded us apart. I cursed the worries, so they mutated like viral particles.

You don't need a map to find your bearings. You only need to notice which way your heart is already pointing. What still feels true when everything else feels negotiable.

Our poetry week closes with a prelude to winter.

Our fourth day of poetry continues with a poem you don't want to miss.

For once, Joe has found goodness in a hole as he beds the rhubarb tenderly beneath soil.

I think I’ve always written because I want to understand something about the world and something about myself in it that I couldn’t otherwise figure out.