Carol Krause

Love Letter for the Broken

When you’ve lost every hope, give thanks. For we will be waiting, with bouquets of light. In your grief, we will rest beside you. We will weep with you, without saying a word. You can cry out in desperation. We will cry out with you. Even if you bury your eyes in the darkness, we will not forsake you. I tell you this, because I know there is a hole in your soul. And I know the world gets inside the hole. Then you feel everything that is outside, inside. This is why you break. I could offer to fix you, but then who would break for the world? Instead, we have come with empty flowers that you can hold in your hands. And a lullaby that can last a lifetime. If you open the bottom of your ear to the sky. We have come to tell you not to change, not really. For the hole in your soul fits our world inside. And when you weep, we rejoice. Instead of making you into something that does not break, how about we show you how to shatter without restriction? Then we can cry out together. For life is cruel and unjust. While every day asks much of the heart. We will hold your hands, in the shadows. And you will hold our hands, in the light. That’s what love is. There’s not much else to say. Just thank you. For the hole in your soul. That tends the whole world, inside. 

Continue reading “Carol Krause”

Cherie Jacobs

I DESERVE TO LIVE AND NOT JUST SURVIVE, 2019

Acrylic on canvas

9” x 12” (22.9x 30.5 cm)


I Deserve to Live and Not Just Survive

I DESERVE TO LIVE AND NOT JUST SURVIVE

I DESERVE TO LIVE AND NOT DIE

I WAS BORN TO DO MUCH MORE THAN STAY BLACK AND DIE

I WAS CREATED FOR MUCH MORE THAN TO PAY TAXES AND DIE

I deserve to live

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Jane Barnes

LOOKING FOR ROCHESTER

I’m writing this essay on a glorious day in July—Independence Day, actually—and I’m here to discuss looking for my own independence, which is not to say, loneliness or even solitude which I gratefully have and enjoy.  Guests come and go, are marvelous company while they’re here, but it’s hard to deny that having the space again to balloon up your own ego, and things such as the nail on which to hold your own red potholders, is nice. Continue reading “Jane Barnes”

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