There are wild flowers in my desert which take up to twenty years to bloom. The seeds sleep like geodes beneath hot feldspar sand until a flash flood bolts the arroyo, lifting them in its copper current, opens them with memory— they remember what their god whispered into their ribs: Wake up and ache for… Continue reading Natalie Diaz
She wanted to find a way to love them in death, because she forgot how to love them in life. — Sherman Alexie, Reservation Blues. (Grove Press; Reprint edition February 7, 2005) Originally published January 1st 1995.
A tongue will wrestle its mouth to death and lose— language is a cemetery. — Natalie Diaz, from “Cloud Watching,” When My Brother Was an Aztec (Copper Canyon, 2012)
Despair has a loose daughter. I lay with her and read the body’s bones like stories. I can tell you the year-long myth of her hips, how I numbered stars, the abacus of her mouth. — Natalie Diaz, from “Prayers or Oubliettes,” When My Brother Was an Aztec. (Copper Canyon Press; 59016th edition May 8,… Continue reading Natalie Diaz
Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up.… Continue reading Louise Erdrich
Everyone I have lost in the closing of a door the click of the lock is not forgotten, they do not die but remain within the soft edges of the earth, the ash of house fires and cancer in sin and forgiveness huddled under old blankets dreaming their way into my hands, my heart closing… Continue reading Sherman Alexie
On my computer, the bathroom mirror, the front door, and the refrigerator are sticky notes that share the same message: ‘I’ll respect your various hungers if you respect mine.’ — Sherman Alexie, “Scenes from a Life,” Blasphemy: New and Selected Stories. (Grove Press October 8, 2013)