“My bones are not softer than average, and their pain when broken is sharp, hard. But years of injuries have taught me that bodies are soft—softer when wounded—all the way down to the bone.”
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I spent the year before proposing to Trye declaring loudly, and often, that I’d figured out what I wanted: another queer, asexual person committed to staying in Ellensburg and providing a space for kids. I wasn’t asking for too much. Specific, maybe, but not too much.
For a while it felt that way, until one day I looked over at trivia and that exact person had materialized from—of all places—Arkansas.
For me, 2025 was a year of water in drought. As the reservoirs in my watershed stagnated at historic lows, I ventured with loved ones to dozens of waterfalls that scintillate over basalt cliffs in high deserts and thread temperate rainforest islands alike.
This is a casting call / for the leading lines in a poem. / You must define “gossamer” and “reel” for me…