Majda has taught me about the sacred and the sacrifice. Driving up to a mountain retreat, the Harvest Moon nestled into the valleys between the peaks like an exclamation point, we wrestled with conceptions around time, space, and our own bodies.
"And there was a huge explosion," my little chapbook reads, "which, as you know, is the quickest way to get things done. The explosion was not the beginning-- just the next change . . . We are all divisions of it, down to an elemental level. We change it changes itself."
The transience of turning leaves skins shed to scatter yellow blazed down to embers then to nothing but a maple-line blue slate Maple-Lines
Do avenging angels swoop down From Point A to Point B? Or do they dally, Restless with conjugations? It was a soft Georgia summer night in 1995, the night I scrawled these words into my journal book. I'd been rehearsing for a production of Romeo and Juliet at a small theatre in Marietta Square, and words… Continue reading Learning Lines