No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story.
Mita was a colourful raconteur; we would relentlessly hound her for stories. She would twist, stitch, plaster and convey anecdotes procured from her mother She possessed an enigmatic glint in her eyes that would plague us to pursue her more and more.
If you’re alone, "ghanghai" will not attack. Best be completely alone. A month ago, one fired missiles at a woman and her cow. Half the mountainside came down. Grandfather and others picked through rubble. Found hooves and headscarf. No body.
No one is banging on my door saying, “How dare you write this stuff? You should be doing something else!” But, if they were, this is what I’d tell them.
She has twenty tabs open in one window, she needs to clear her head.
If there’s anything I love more than singing, it is having the time and the space not to be seen. To think and feel without being seen. Writing provides that. Singing - or, rather, performing - did not.
And then there was Circe.
Not only the goddess daughter of Titan,
Circe was also a witch,
of course she was,
she was female
so it went with the territory,