lent, part iii: resurrection.

New buds on cacti bloom slowly. Unfortunately, these new buds aren't the end of our original story. As it turned out, the cactus at the end of our street--the one that the winter storm had damaged, the one that they pruned back to a wooden stump--got ripped out of the ground shortly after. The winter …

lent, part ii: abscission.

They finally cut the dying cactus down. Disoriented and deadened by the winter storm we had in February, its pads had already begun to fall off on their own, rotting dark, stinking stains into the sidewalk. Now, it is only a stump, not even a tenth of its original size. I am shocked how little …

mountain.

we, her children, understand so little. though the lines on her face may change with every silver shift of moonlight, though the edges of her body may soften with each passing winter, and sharpen with each treacherous carving of spring, though her vision may cut clear across the miles, the howl of a wolf to …

homeland.

Let me tell you the story of the home I found in fields of green grass across the sea. My father and two sisters led the way down the path toward our ancestral castle, toward town, toward an endless sky. Around us, the only herd of red deer left in Ireland grazed on the land …

the write questions.

I couldn't quite put my finger on why I haven't wanted to write for the past couple of weeks. At first, getting a puppy upended my routine, which made writing take a backseat as I figured out how to adjust my mind and body to a new rhythm. This took longer than expected--it's remarkable how …