my mandibles as serrated as my remarks / about the life she chose—she flies backwards.
feeling married and enclosed / as rain flecks our windows, // lashing the car, the road, the grasses, / the bright and hot transformed
For now, we are returned to nature: he is wanted, he wants not.
let your bare toes take root everywhere they will / let the wind shake loose your laughter
the left pea pod is asleep / they are craters on the dead / surface of the moon / or maybe they are tiny / mouths of goldfish
If politics divides many families, it was actually a sweet spot for my mother and me, the one place where our instincts and ideologies were almost totally aligned. So I was happy to take the first week in November with her because I figured that the drama around the election would give us an outlet for our anxiety.
I think writers, actors and musicians—all artists in fact—are drawn to elemental themes of life and death, childhood and parenthood, and they find ways to place themselves both inside and outside of powerful emotions. They can access extreme states while remaining detached enough to practice their craft and render the emotions for others.
Karen Raney’s debut novel All the Water in the World is a candid illustration of the bond between a mother and a daughter faced with an ugly disease and newly developed secrets.
I read The Beginning of Everything during the early weeks of the spread of COVID-19 in the United States, and it was interesting to note the parallels between the period of collective isolation and uncertainty that our nation was embarking on and the months Buchanan spent alone, lying flat on her bed, unsure what was wrong with her and unsure how, or if, she would get better.
“It’s headline grabbing to say that parents are too involved with their children or to mention helicopter parenting over and over—most parents are not. Data shows that kids who remain close to their parents do better.” Lisa Heffernan