But the contract is the contract, and it was a bad contract. I have learned my lesson! And I have come a long way since 2021 in my career experience. So let this be a cautionary tale, I suppose. It’s tough to get paid your worth as a writer or a creative. And determining what that worth is might be even harder. It’s also strange to be a part of an anthology alongside big industry names… … More Moonbox Notes #11: January 2023
I will leave these thoughts as they are and place in them no weight. I will approach the stage but live my life along the way. I’ve made no decisions yet. What I look forward to the most is my growing relationship with joy in my writing and in my day-to-day. So let’s hang on to that, right? Will you be a sister to me, with me, for me? A mother, a father, a brother, a friend? … More Moonbox Notes #10: Diciembre 2022
I suppose the reality-check is thus: I am more than the drama or the pain and I am even more than a truthseeker or a supporter of justice. I am also mundane. Giddy. At times complacent. Full of fantasies. I fail at simple, unentertaining things. The first thing I do in the morning is boil water. … More In Brief, 2022: The Pangs of Our Hope
How it must be something so intimate and deep
It must mean that it was once tethered
Was once a part
Yet repeated, related
So innate and dearly tied
It must have been hungry
It must have been fed
Was once a whole
Sewn in parts repeating, relative… … More Moonbox Notes #9: November 2022
This animation of the void, if you will, opened endless doorways for interpretation and use in an almost meta-like manner. I imagined an abyss, or a slippery slope of want vs need, where the most tender and provocative spaces exist for a person. In the poem, this is where the quiet hauntings might be born or reside or speak from. … More Moonbox Notes #8: Octubre 2022
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
perhaps this is what happens every time I press a key on the piano. A string pulls sound toward itself. I press a finger to pull sound into me. I keep the memory of tones, of grandparents, of parents, of time itself. I keep and I keep and I keep. Perhaps keeping is what ages us, compels us to evade or ignore what we can no longer pull. … More In Brief, 2021: What the Brain Does
And just like the deer, and how the creek left ridges and curls in the sand, did I leave notions of myself, too. Just like that — we take and are taken. … More In Brief, 2018: My Human Craft
For those who are looking for a book to gift to adventurous, artsy, environmentally curious friends (or to hint at as a gift for oneself), here is a short and sweet list of titles we’d recommend. All titles can be found on Amazon unless we provide a specific link to elsewhere, and keep in mind that prices may have changed since the publication of this list. Enjoy! … More Holiday Gift: A Brief Book Guide for Adventure, Environment, Poetry, and Art
The cracks in my skin and the chalk that settles there, skin woven, white lace over burning sand. These are the things I’ve remembered, among things I carry, ephemeral as the action of having written them down: … More Yosemite Notes: The Things I Carry
All our shoulders are sore. My feet incite anxiety when they get wet. Tired legs. Today is more or less a do-nothing day but my body is in a funk. I’m quiet. Almost somber. Energy low. Raging headache. I ask Hatie for some of her Advil. I’m in an endurance hangover, it seems. I don’t even want to expend the energy talking so I daydream about napping. … More Boundary Waters, Part 3: Memory of Sounds
I can’t explain everything, honestly. We got lost. We might have been in Canada for a few hours, who knows. The water levels this year are high, Hatie says, and the islands don’t look the same – nothing really was matching the map anymore. So we paddled and paddled. Sonya brought an Oru Kayak and her paddling was even more exhausting I’m sure. We also decided to wear stick-on mustaches today; I have my silver leggings, Hatie has gold, and Sonya is decked out in champagne leggings and a matching tutu. We could most certainly be the lost girls of Peter Pan. … More Boundary Waters, Part 2: Lost
Sonya has started the fire and the light against the lake fools you into believing that if you follow the stone steps down to the water’s edge, you’ll fall away, airborne. Yet as romantic as it all may be, the mosquitoes are what keep you sane and seated, layered in clothing and swatting, occasionally smearing blood that is hopefully yours. … More Boundary Waters, Part 1: Inception
Sometimes it is steam over the stove, watery eyes, days passing like the hairs that slip from my head, tendrils of fate, always happening. They leave evidence to where I’ve been, who I’ve touched, what clothes I’ve worn; yet I’ll never know when or how, exactly. All I can do is close my eyes … More Write Anything, Memory
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