
sun alive crawls
across my ceiling
waking these hands
to scrub the bathroom,
fold the laundry,
type letters.

sun alive crawls
across my ceiling
waking these hands
to scrub the bathroom,
fold the laundry,
type letters.

whisper soft again, friend
describe cold smoke, warm mother
blue-glazed bowl of soup
another cat in the window
dusty fan-blown strands

one time i stood
under a flowering pear tree
in my wild backyard
and thought, this is good.
it was warm
and i’d just finished nursing my baby girl.
she heavy-slept in a sling
on my freckled chest.
her hair was red
and my feet were bare.

“What she needs are stories.
Stories are a way to preserve one’s self. To be remembered. And to forget.
Stories come in so many forms: in charcoal, and in song, in paintings, poems, films. And books.
Books, she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives—or to find strength in a very long one.”
—The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab
For the month of April, my model was my dear friend Bonnie. I met her when she was just in high school and I’ve had the pleasure of watching her grow into a giving, talented, hard-working young woman. Bonnie is the kind of person who gathers others to her. She cultivates community, has a wonderful sense of humor, and is a fierce defender of kindness. Her friends call her a silly goose, which fits her, but she’s also the very thing Shakespeare talked about when he said “though she be but little, she is fierce.”
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