bleeding. and ways to feed yourself with words.

a visiting writer read this poem today in a reading and panel discussion. and all i have to say about it is:


— yes, in all caps.

i was left feeling split open to the core in this strangely inexplicable way. i squirmed in my seat. it’s just such an incredibly profound poem on so many levels. it underscores the symbiotic fucked-up-ness of relationships, of life it seems.

if you haven’t, do read “bleeding” by may swenson here. gosh golly wow.

then there’s this, amazingly:

my dream about being white

by lucille clifton

hey music and
only white,
hair a flutter of
fall leaves
circling my perfect
line of a nose,
no lips,
no behind, hey
white me
and i’m wearing
white history
but there’s no future
in those clothes
so i take them off and
wake up
read more about her here.

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