Yellow Sweater

Yellow Sweater

WA

YWP Alumni Advisor

Posts

  • The Earth and the Sun

    I fall asleep reading about duende, reading, radiating duende. That’s what Lorca’s poetry does: it causes my grandmother’s pitched voice to tremble with a terrible softness, like the moon liquified and stored in a jar.
  • Soft Clay

    she wakes like soft clay, 
    a notion pressed onto her face 

    the morning is as blue 
    as a low-timbered evening. 

    low enough to sway to, 
    vibrations etched into cracked lips 
  • Before you jump

    Last night, I went down to the water just before it got dark. I sat on the seawall with my knees close to my chest and smelled the salt. The water was grey, but it reflected the burnished purple of the sky.
  • Dying Daisies

    what are we but dying daisies? 

    oh, holy one, one who is whole,
    leave me without petals. I'm only
    a yellow center ripe with pollen 
    that has not yet become honey. 

     
  • Propped Up Sky

    Cycling along the flat cement at sunset, we hear the frog song. It swells, candid and all-consuming. It’s like drinking plain mint tea on a bitter evening. But winter is gone now, we must find our sharpness elsewhere. 

Loves

  • A Fork In The Road

    When you see a fork in the road what do you do? Go left? Go right? Or ruin the story by standing there and thinking about which way to go then turning around and going home?

  • migration

    i, like many poets, have wondered a million times what it would be like to be a bird: soaring high above the trees, unburdened by life's banal worries. something primal and free. 

  • cutting fruit

    the sound of laughter through sun-spotted trees,

    i dreamed last night we were fae frolicking 

    in rings of toadstools, in and out of trees.

    fireworks went off in my head as