Field Notes for a Son I Didn’t Know
Day 4 She turned down the radio when a child sang. Didn’t say why, But her fingers curled against her thigh like they were remembering how to hold a…
griefA collection of 11 posts
Necromnesis
By breath and bone and fleeting trace, I call you— by sigh mistaken, empty space, I call you— by echoes caught in fraying thread, by shadows drifting near my bed,…
I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself by Marisa Crane
Marisa Crane's speculative fiction book I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself is exactly as fascinating—and rather delightfully odd—as its title. Crane creates a story that creeps carefully beneath your skin and puts down roots by fusing speculative components with profoundly human vulnerability. Crane invites us to a universe where criminal punishment is demonstrated physically as extra shadows—visible reminders of guilt and shame—and she does so with language that moves between poetic tenderness a…
On A Winter Mourning
Beneath the willow's frozen, brittle shade, I mourn the garden buried deep in frost. The tender shoots that once began to fade, Now sleep beneath the ice, forever…
Our Fragile Threads
The house sighs heavy now— its walls no longer know how to hold us. Our photographs sit like ghosts on the mantel, cold witnesses to what we were before the edges of our lives frayed, before we forgot how to reach for each other.…