Winter Birth

Winter is not a season but my glacial womb, the blue   ice that festoons my shoes, my toes tapping as I croon: moon, moon,   send us some snow! I will not be born, cannot live until a blizzard comes,   my father chopping blocks frozen  by the side door, my mother’s contractions   […]

Pica

Baby bird in the bushes, I scooped handfuls of dirt, the minerals the body craved at my fingertips. Taste of metal, the earth’s iron, hand to mouth, one gritty girl. I was fed by the soil. Then, a proclivity for paper captured on film, crawling Christmas morning in heaven, grazing the wasteland of wrapping paper […]