Tag Archives: death

Stones and bones [cemetery song]

Once you make a major purchase (house, car, major appliances) things invariably start breaking down and costing more money. Things break in multiples, the same with bad omens (in 3’s, 5’s, 7’s, like the number of days you can expect … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, parenting, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , | 25 Comments

Bone piece

The memoir, the story of your life, is an object of questionable value. You hold it in your hands, shake, listen: what’s inside? Is there a lock? Does it open? What’s it for? You could take it to someone who … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

12 Türkengasse

If you believe in souls, or souls without homes they call spirits, than you can keep yourself occupied in my mom’s house imagining them. It can also make you nuts—mom says it’s hardest living alone here this time of year. … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, travel | Tagged , , , , , , | 18 Comments

The Tower card, reversed | Field notes from the Pacific coast

This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5 (#30 post). It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington … Continue reading

Posted in death, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Existential work theme | Field notes from the Pacific coast

This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5. It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington coast, with … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Jupiter’s Beard in B minor

I wound back up Cougar Mountain, the A7, the seam air shaft to primrose mine—and there at the end was a pit, a deep hole in the ground with a large rock bearded in moss, dripping, making cave sounds. And … Continue reading

Posted in identity | Tagged , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

That exquisite pose, prose

It wasn’t supposed to snow or smell like dog puke still in the corner of the sofa but it did both (it smelled and snowed), and I tightened my scarf and went out after dark but it was starting to … Continue reading

Posted in death, prose | Tagged , , , , , , | 8 Comments