love

I used to have an old red suitcase where I kept my journals, about fifty or so notebooks, each filled with stories and poems, travel notes, bits of this and that I’d glued onto…

My mother owned a long narrow cedar trunk that looked to me, when I was a little girl, like a coffin. It was at the end of her bed and my mother would pile quilts on the…

Looking through the lens of the present, after all that has happened between us—all the good things and the bad—it is hard to see The Magician clearly, without prejudice.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about origin myths. Creation ex nihilo, creation from the void, mythical creation, creation by God, and creation by the Big Bang—I’m into all…