a/lone

Soft wafts of bittersweet solitude
To settle upon me like a summer blanket
Sticky spider’s web of just and only me

rush /\ pressure

“There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist most easily succumbs: activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many…

¿[questions]?

If you are a wandering soul, a wondering soul, then you’re a soul that lives by questions. If you’re a lonely soul, a lusting soul, then you’re a soul that lives flirting with edges. If you’re a restless soul, a downward spiraling soul, then you’re a soul that lives asking for more. Oh, you wandering, wondering, lonely…

Crying in the Embrace of the Great Lakes

As snow drifts into winter wind and winter wind caresses snow into shapely domes, I cry for the igloo I once built around myself in a north-facing bedroom in a small Wisconsin town. I cry for a no-in-nor-out igloo, lacking a trapdoor for letting in love’s light. I cry for the sleepless thrashing nights spent…

hypochondria

I. being a hypochondriac is a feminist issue there must be something wrong with me                         wrong with us always and especially when most functional for what else are we? we, such sorry, dependent creatures if not to need, if not for always needing      nurturing  …

Tonight, I dress up as Elastigirl and

go to a party of a bunch of real graduated people who work on gay rights. Yesterday, our campaign won its first victory and I turned in probably the worst Wellesley paper that I have ever written. I might not be falling in love, I can do 5 pullups, 7 on a good day, and…

s.p..a…c…..e……………… [part the first]

My birthday gathering has wound down a bit by now. The background noise from adjacent conversations is no longer shout-inducing. People have relaxed beautifully into each other despite (or perhaps because?) of the fact that they’re wearing ridiculous outfits and drinking hard apple cider on a cool Saturday September evening. I find myself standing in…

Cotton-Eye Joe, bell hooks and National Coming Out Day

It’s National Coming Out Day and all of these self-prescribed labels zinging around the internet are making me anxious. Labels feel like the women’s shirts with shoulders too narrow for actual upper body strength and the undressing stares of lounging men as I walked Valparaíso’s streets. Labels feel like the first time I put on…

Potluck

I’m a senior, and I don’t have anything figured out. I don’t know how to keep myself from re-tearing ligaments sometimes, re-opening relationship wounds sometimes, needing therapists. I don’t know how to make people like me. I don’t know how to drink from a Nalgene without spilling liquid all over my lap. I don’t know…

where the deer and the antelope play

I don’t know where home is, anymore. It used to be where I had always lived, in the middle, as I put it in my Common App essay, of cows and Christians and corn forever. Only the rare birds took flight from this verdant and comfortably monotonous landscape. I was that rare bird of my high…

Have you ever….

(or listen here) … floated through the world just wanting to hug everyone and listen to them and share with them? And say sorry for the ways you may have been an asshole? And make music together? And then hug them again? … swum out into lake Michigan on a sparklingly sunny summer day and floated…

Uteruses R Us

This past weekend, I went to a natural gynecology workshop. I arrived at a little past 10 on the sunny Saturday morning, to a sort of retaken community space with a big lawn and some skattered, run-down buildings. There was already a group of women sitting on a little half-sunned patio chatting and making themselves…