What’s the Point?
It's easy to look out at the world and despair, to ask what point there is in donating to nonprofits, voting, protesting, calling your elected officials, writing Op-Eds. There is no shortage of anecdotes and …
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It's easy to look out at the world and despair, to ask what point there is in donating to nonprofits, voting, protesting, calling your elected officials, writing Op-Eds. There is no shortage of anecdotes and …
“Children found ‘butchered’ in Israeli kibbutz...” - CNN I dream a rocket’s aftermath smells of cracked pepper, that it sprays not blood and shrapnel but mint leaves, ice clinking in delicate hand-blown glass; that its thunder is a hundred-thousand …
Not the shaded table by the pool where I point out a hummingbird eating nectar and my son asks, “You mean like I eat pizza?” Not the tent—stuffed in a corner of the garage—I slept in many summers ago while …
It has been a difficult summer for people directly impacted by the climate crisis, of course, but also for those of us who have been spared the fires, floods, and extreme heat yet are nevertheless …
“Hawaii wildfires burn historic town of Lahaina 'to the ground'” - BBC I remember coffee-flavored ice cream at the Royal Scoop, how it made me long to be old enough to drink espresso like Dad. I remember stepping …
Is it wrong to love this world like a newborn swaddled in peach skin, beech-tree bark, silt at the mouth of a stream whose headwater is starlight, is ocean-honey, is upwell of grief? World we once …
Once, when I was getting my masters degree in environmental studies, I met with the then-director of the department to talk about potential career paths upon graduation. I told him that I was interested in …
My freshman year of college at California State University, Northridge, I took a class called General Logic. I remember little of the class, in no small part because two weeks into the semester I fell off my …
Between Singularity and Singularity, between dawn and dusk, between errand and meeting, between dream and nightmare there is the flicker of free time, the choice to write sonnet or free verse, to carry or be carried away by burdens, by joy. But …
One could be forgiven for asking what poetry, with its self-indulgence, its insistence on image and metaphor, can do for the real world of blood and bruises, the harsh dirt with which we bury the …