Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?– Mary Oliver
My Daughter at Seventeen →
Link to my poem on Snakeskin.
The Scent →
Link to my poem on Red River Review.
The Strays of Dingbo →
Link to my story on mightymercury.com.
Sandalwood Mountain Temple →
Link to my story on expatwomen.com.
Poverty is a Bag with a Hole at the Bottom →
Link here to my essay on mightymercury.com.
There is a way to open your body to the land, like a lover. There is a way to read the mood of the soil, like a prophet. Out here, crows are omens, and clouds ambassadors of the August sky. There is a way to synchronize your pulse, to learn the cadence. This is the only way to fill your basket.
Your heart is a muscle, the size of your fist. Keep loving. Keep fighting.– Anonymous
Worshippers bring disease and disgrace to the temple. Behind glass, the golden man is sitting lotus, safe from the grease of hands. If only they could rub their bodies over him, kiss the blessed feet, caress the clear skies of his enlightenment, if only they could lay with him. Red candles are lit, promises made. For a coin, fickle fortunes are studied in the yarrow stalks. Deflated, losers...
Cosmos Mariner, Destination Unknown.– Conrad Aiken