On private grief and political imagination

My mom was dying of brain cancer during the War in Iraq. My private grief and catastrophic tenderness in those brutal months made my political imagination and compassion more acute than ever before. “There is only ever one death // So many names for the unnameable,” as I wrote at that time. Paris, Beirut, Iraq, […]

What it says

March, march, march–how do you do it? Just as the daffodils poke their noses through the soil, a return to winter, heavy snow. Not that it isn’t beautiful–bright crystals shining on the roof, crystals on the back deck so intricately lit by morning sun I don’t want the dog to walk on them (but walk […]