Status Updates From How to Not Be Afraid of Eve...

Half a century later, I count the apples
that fall from trees. I know I can’t stop them
from rotting on the ground. I can’t go back and
give them to you.

When washing her feet, my grandmother tells me that she spent decades without shoes, wonders if the mud misses her

When poets grapple with the fluttering, complex, contradicting emotions I usually stifle within myself, I'm forced to do the same. And it feels like being forced to surrender. Usually ends in tears