I never meant to break–but streetlights dressed her gold.The curve and curve of her shoulders–the hum and hive of them,moonglossed pillory of them–nearly felled me to my knees.How can I tell you–the amber of her.The body of honey–I took it in my hands. — Natalie Díaz, from “Waist and Sway,” Postcolonial Love Poem (Graywolf Press,… Continue reading Natalie Díaz
Nothing lives longOnly the earth and mountains — Dee Brown, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American West. (Holt Paperbacks; 30th Anniversary edition January 23, 2001) Originally published 1970.
What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset. — Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator (1890)
the space betweensaying how much i miss everyone i know& pressing my forehead to my kneeis usually smaller than i think.the closest body of watercalls itself a river, but it’s stagnant.i call myself a lot to give,but that’s an exaggeration. — Raena Shirali, from “i know i am in love again when,” No More Potlucks.… Continue reading Raena Shirali
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 Eldrich
Nothing lives longOnly the earth and mountains — Dee Brown, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American West. (Holt Paperbacks; 30th Anniversary edition January 23, 2001) Originally published 1970.
Despair has a loose daughter.I lay with her and read the body’s boneslike stories. I can tell you the year-long mythof her hips, how I numbered stars,the abacus of her mouth. — Natalie Díaz, from “Prayers or Oubliettes,” When My Brother Was an Aztec. (Copper Canyon Press; 59016th edition May 8, 2012)
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.
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)
Everyone I have lostin the closing of a doorthe click of the lock is not forgotten, theydo not die but remainwithin the soft edgesof the earth, the ash of house fires and cancerin sin and forgivenesshuddled under old blankets dreaming their way intomy hands, my heartclosing tight like fists. ― Sherman Alexie, “Indian Boy Love… Continue reading Sherman Alexie
The Vale of Soul-Making 