In Brief, 2025: On Your/My Behalf
I do not abandon you without grief. You are not at fault. You were made how you were made. You’ve always done, simply, what you know. … More In Brief, 2025: On Your/My Behalf
I do not abandon you without grief. You are not at fault. You were made how you were made. You’ve always done, simply, what you know. … More In Brief, 2025: On Your/My Behalf
[I no longer have]
[I had to remove my]
[I couldn’t keep my]
[I chose a chance at long life over having] … More Moonbox Notes #31: Fall & Film
my husband knows where
my skin discerns itself and where
it does not—and between the islands
of numbess my body has found … More Moonbox Notes #30: Letting Go/Next Surgery
how I wish to hold on
bury myself with your belonging … More Moonbox Notes #29: Primavera (Hello, Goodbye)
I remember when grandpa didn’t slouch, when he’d tell jokes, eat pickled pigs feet, speak his native tongue to the gardeners that care for his landscaping. He still laughs, of course, but it feels so rare. My husband once told that silly dog joke about a bulldog and a shih tzu. Grandpa laughed so hard it was as if, for a brief moment, the curse of being a stroke victim had broken. Humor will always be what seems to soothe what cannot be said. … More Moonbox Notes #28: Post-Surgery
Inner eyelid, soft
Night like any, this
Sweeping urge to think
One thousand sheep
March into the darkness
Never looking back at you, … More Moonbox Notes #27: Winter 2025
Owls hoot from invisible places, from the rocky canyon walls we now trudge between, from the tucked earthen dark, behind the eyes of a fox who follows us. … More Moonbox Notes #26: Nov/Dec
I like how obscure this year’s post has become. It is maybe more showing than telling. It is also both narrative and not. This is how my life feels right now, and this ending of 2024 leaves me in the very place my notebook ends: with blank pages, with the last entry its own, crossed-out void. … More In Brief, 2024: No Te Escucho
there’s something sad about running
through a grove of ancient
bristlecone pines, something mortal
and wounded, drought-stricken
and wildfire smoked but rooted
time immemorial, this urge … More Moonbox Notes #25: Octubre
you are the shape of the alpine loam catching like thirst, yourself now the notes of thunder … More Moonbox Notes #24: Summer Edition
It’s been eight long weeks of recovery thus far, and I still have an unknown journey ahead. To have this happen now, the year I become sponsored, right before three back-to-back races, one being my first international race (a Skyrunning race! a world stage!)…obviously, injuries are never convenient. … More Moonbox Notes #23: Abril/Mayo
these bodies remain
earthlings, caught by storm
heartwoods, as brown as ever
otro día, nevado pero entero
as in, rooted, cradling light
a red, rubbled road into the sky—
why can’t we see it
the end to the storm … More Moonbox Notes #22: Febrero/Marzo
Maybe some of you have wondered why I always share so much about Indigenous People. I hope this piece answers that for you. It is because I have an affinity for All My Relations (the belief that we are all related); it is because I have a duty to learn about and uphold the pieces of me that have been ignored by society, education, and even the communities I grew up in … More Moonbox Notes #21: Enero
My brain, body, and soul have been restless. “The Holidays” have felt wrong for years, but this year was even more potent for me (unfathomable for those in Palestine). I’m done glazing over US Holidays as a status quo. … More Moonbox Notes #20: Diciembre
And what better modes of suggestion than art or direct protest, both borne through our ability to use the imagination, where the rules of even kindness break down, where power is bewildered and navigation, endless. Where the ways of living out one’s life stun the status quo. … More In Brief, 2023: Suggestions
They touch. They toss themselves like an acrobat, back arching, tails curling momentum. The squirrels roam the slope, knead through soil, leaves, duff. Bury, unbury. They garden. They nurse. They take care. … More Moonbox Notes #19: Oct/Nov 2023
But, it’s fawn season and I’ve already seen a mama cross through the land with her two little ones. Plus, a mama squirrel with her fresh younglings. There’s also a crow family that nests nearby, and this morning they were heckling someone’s wandering, domestic cat. There is no shortage of non-human interactions here. … More Moonbox Notes #16: Jun/lio 2023
But yawning is not quite the same as responding to something lovely with grief, so this analogy has probably failed, just as I failed to hold onto love at a formal table in a public space. At my wedding, my mother was just a picture, I thought. And yet it was no longer just a thought. … More Moonbox Notes #15: Mayo 2023
But I can only speak the languages of assimilation
of a lost knowing
of ways in which to peel
ear by ear
wool by wool
the bloodiest parts of the earth. … More Moonbox Notes #14: Abril 2023
It allures me to recall again and again. And all I want is to surround myself with its sounds. This is the shape of you, dressed in your voice. … More Moonbox Notes #13: Marzo 2023