A Literary Isthmus
“And when they arrive they arejust plain scrambled eggs and the warm weatheris holding.” Frank O’hara
“And when they arrive they arejust plain scrambled eggs and the warm weatheris holding.”
Our namesake. As published in the League of Canadian Poets’ Jessamy Stursberg Poetry Contest. Featuring little Angel.
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Seasonal endings
How familiarity is like swimming: muscle memory and constant.
Moving on can look something like self-admittance.
Hospitals are scary. So are checkups.
Growing up is learning that you can’t save every flower.
Had an illuminating conversation on gardening – this was the outcome.
Ohio cornfields as a genre. On the aftermath of summer romance, the way the self forgets.
This is for secondhand-grief.
After Limón’s “Field Bling.”