Hunger in the Dark The grandmothers are wailing, heads covered,faces creased with the stories of their living.They offer honey to those passerby who hear them,hoping for even just a glance.What we would heal, we must know, willingly.With our own broken edges we have put out our eyes,refusing to countenance what must be.The grandmothers whisper medicine, … Continue reading Hunger in the Dark →

The world turns to smoke, and I,a ghost within it,coat my tongue in heavy honeywith each inhale, savoring,savoring,as the breeze flows through, a-calling.Do you know it,that simple hunger of living?Unfurl and be fed. The Cumberland River, seen from Rolling Mill Hill. Photos taken by author 6/13/2021.