Essay by John Jacobson
Love, joy, loss, and grief are all flowers on the same vine.
Love, joy, loss, and grief are all flowers on the same vine.
Touching, letting go, returning to touch: we love with the persistence of flies!
As if you had claimed your voice before it was silenced.
Better to live alone than with this kind of emotional wreckage, I counseled myself.
Now I’m half the stoner I used to be, liquor-free, and he’s gone.
I think now, in this time of violence and protest, of what Steve Cannon would say about the madness of some and the resolve of others.
Beside her, the vase swallows her own shadow.
Every purchase must be tracked to dispel any ugly merchant tricks and ensure that our meager tips were never misread.
It’s only a ride until we make our first U-turn—then it’s an adventure.
The virus demands a deep imagining of death.