What it means to live in a body. How writing takes me out of my body—how I forget my body. And—thump—I’m back. When I write I am not here. Or: I am more here than ever when I . . .
Saltwater grasses shushed in a slough deep enough at high tide that a VW Bug–sized baby humpback swam up, chasing a silver school of tiny herring. The baby bubbled the water, reminding me of a toddler in a bathtub. His . . .
On the island of Lesbos, not far from the narrow rocky beach at Skala Sykamnias where hundreds of thousands of refugees have arrived in rubber dinghies over the past three or four years and continue to land in smaller numbers, . . .
In the blazing hot early June sun, fresh off a transatlantic flight, I bicycled across town to the Gardiner Museum for the second-last day of Yoko Ono’s The Riverbed exhibition. I rode through a gauze of hazy bliss that might . . .
We met often that summer. There were still five more years to go until 2020. We had each spent 1999 somewhere else, so we didn’t think we would be together to greet 2020, the moment Space Wonder Kiddy would take . . .
This excerpt from Casting Deep Shade by C.D. Wright, forthcoming from Copper Canyon Press in February 2019, is reprinted with permission from Copper Canyon. Photographs are by C.D. Wright, except for Bibletree, which is by Edward Forrest Frank.
The . . .
In October 2017, I spent the day with my friend the writer Hiromi Goto hiking through the Pacific Spirit Regional Park, a network of trails in more than 750 hectares of forest. Our focus was an area of reclaimed peat . . .
In the first seven minutes of Jeff Barnaby’s Rhymes for Young Ghouls, Anna (Roseanne Supernault) kills herself and who but her daughter, Aila (Devery Jacobs), is left to witness her body suspended in thick air. “The day I found . . .