The Third Year

I have no wisdom. Simply this breath. And the next.

The Second Year

The jasmine is blooming. That, too, is a sweetness.

Reading The Blue Clerk, (4)

in the gaps and shadows of the required you find the unimagined necessary.

Reading The Blue Clerk, (3)

Does the blue clerk fret over the delayed reader?

the first year

What does one call the day one’s mother died?

Reflection

Binyavanga harmed people. Some of them I knew, most I didn’t.

after Rona

We do not know when or if Rona will leave or take us with it.

a good death

It’s difficult to sit in the pocket of someone else’s sadness.

& Other Pleasures

Although we seek escape, our goal cannot be to remain fugitives.

feelings

I hate that moment on reality tv when someone has suffered some kind of loss—received a devastating critique from judges or being kicked off a competition—and the show’s host shoves a microphone in their face and demands, “how are you feeling?” Perhaps those who participate in such shows have been trained, given the appropriate responses....