Many people ask, though, “What if you don’t like Durango? What if you want to come back to Boulder?” And while I entertain the possibility of wanting to return, my heart is telling me that leaving Boulder is only going to be a healing thing. It is the best decision for us at this point in our lives. … More Moonbox Notes #7: Septiembre 2022
The fish jump and their little tails
bend through thin air,
the couple flick their wrists
and the blueness is swept … More Moonbox Notes #6: August 2022
I’ve been thinking a lot about alpine spaces lately, not just because I visit them, but also because of all the rounds of edits I’ve been doing for an upcoming essay in Alpinist Magazine. I’m proud, but I’m also nervous. More so than my last essay for them. I just know that I’m more than a narrative on paper. And I feel that my prose poetry is more in line with how I see and interpret the world than any formal essay could capture. Nonetheless, I hope my voice comes through. And I hope it means something. … More Moonbox Notes #5: June/July 2022
It’s been 7 weeks. A span of time that is impossible to convey without some form of exaggeration. It’s been like dreaming. Mountains rise and fall away. The tightness changes into pain into tightness into dull shapes at the heel or arch or up the calf in cables. There are moments I forget everything. Sleep a black sleep. Then there are flashing scenes: tea bag, tent pitch, the slow tug of a climbing shoe around the heel, a spoon on the tongue, hairbrush, riverbank, paintings of indigenous feminism in a museum. … More Moonbox Notes #4: May 2022
The festival itself encompasses aspects of this as well, the play of meeting new people, the play of finding yourself sipping rum and coke as you watch people spin fire, the play of helping others, the play of witnessing visual art in a public space, the play of learning hard truths — play, as in, the novelty, sure, but also the reciprocity, the indulgence, the curiosity, the embodiment, the unpredictability. … More Moonbox Notes #3: April 2022
Even the Gray Wolf with a dark, mottled coat that stares at me from the wall-calendar photo is a part of this meta-equation. The forested background is blurred, the foreground is soft in grass and wind, the only sharpness being the wolf: a premise, if you will, one that contemplates the viewer. Not unlike a physical bridge, where what happens before and after, or maybe even during the crossing, is specific to the user; the prompt is only ever a bridge. … More Moonbox Notes #2: March 2022
The whiteboard has words like cupless and scree scribbled on it, a part of a list. It has reminders to work on edits for current projects, rediscover and submit writing that has lived on my hard drive for over a decade, have my IUD removed from my uterus, schedule a mammogram for August. For now, at least, I can leave the need to think about removing my ovaries hanging abstractly in the air. … More Moonbox Notes #1: February 2022
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