I prefer keeping in mind even the possibilitythat existence has its own reason for being.— Wisława Szymborska, “Possibilities” We were committed tree-huggers, yet we were scientists first. Space-X and Amazon Foundation sponsored our team to study the White Mountain bristlecone pines to figure out how to mimic their hardiness via gene engineering. Humankind’s hourglass had…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery 21 — Sailor’s Song
I went out to the hazel wood / Because a fire was in my head.–from The Song of Wandering Aengus, by William Butler Yeats Leather felt strange on my feet again after six months, mirroring the feeling of stepping on dry land again. Circling gulls seemed to laugh at me as I navigated through the…
dVerse — Prosery 20 — Hungry
Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy,by Mary Oliver, from from Spring Azures from the book Wild Geese Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, especially on the nights I hear them, moaning and scratching at the windows. It’s the coldest January on record. I’ve unlocked the outbuilding,…
dVerse — Prosery 19 — Hidden Treasure
“Reading what I have just written, I now believe.”–Louise Gluck, from Faithful and Virtuous Night At the time it felt like a dream. One Spring afternoon geocache coordinates took us north an hour and then west for another. GPS dinged we’d reached our destination. Scant undergrowth made it easy to find the two-track. We walked…
dVerse — Prosery 18 — Tanked
[T]here is nothing behind the wallexcept a space where the wind whistles…–from “Drawings By Children” by Lisel Mueller I’m floating in aquamarine dialed to an optimal degree. My breasts point to the sky. Bubbles tickle my back. I flap my arms like humpback flippers and hum low, sending a message to my lover. Please…
dVerse — prosery 17 — Starbaby
We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time. – from Hummingbird, by D.H. Lawrence Gerald was born at the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month in the year of the dragon. Unlike his six siblings with blue eyes, Gerald’s glittered like emeralds. He never cried…
dVerse — prosery 16 — Night Feeders
In their dreams they sleep with the moon.–From Mary Oliver, “Death at Wind River” Once pampered, now refugees, at dawn they slink in grimy, forgotten shadows of Oldtown to their den until dusk falls. Their fortress is woven with plastic, glass, and metal discarded by the giver-of-treats who will never again pet their once-luxurious fur….
Tao-Talk 