My father used to say dead meat: “You're dead meat,” he'd shout and chase after us, laughing.
Today I realized that longing comes from knowing that I am a part of something greater.
I must choose how to seek.
Last night, my husband said I was “cold” on the phone with my mother.
This affternoon, I cried for 30 minutes. Then, I went to yoga.
Someone said today: Here you go. Give it your best shot.
I wrote about landscapes and not plots this morning.
Maple syrup on steamed kale tastes good.
from “Empty Boat”
In the slaughterhouse of love they kill only
the best, none of the weak or deformed.
Don't run away from this dying.
Whoever's not killed for love is dead meat.
*translated by Coleman Barks