For the Girl Who Raised Herself
Her mother sleeps whenever she can,
late afternoons on top of the sheets,
light pouring in from the windows with
the errands left undone.
She’s like a church in a mine
where work and worship
join blistered hands.
And all the little heads come to bow
at the edge of her mattress
—softer than anything—
where miners still dream
even after a cave in.
And I Feel Like I'm Being Eaten
by Jane Black
... In every city there is a place for people like me ...
Jeffrey DeShell Interview
by Grant Maierhofer
... The image or story I might begin with in my head is always transformed by the act of writing ...