to sink down,
a huddle of wilting bones
to be borne up again
to stay hip-cocked, ornery
and still, still
breathe deep into the belly.
undo this world, please.
undo every lethal gas attack
the hoarding of clean air
the systematic flogging of our dead
and our living
and our in-betweens in prison,
now on strike, who knows how long.
i know that to undo would mean me too
me this bit of spinach stuck in the teeth of god
and of course that is ok.
Saturday’s rally at Corcoran State Prison in California, in solidarity with 30,000 prisoners participating in a hunger strike and work stoppage against solitary confinement. 100°F brought back hometown summertime for me, but also made everything a bit groggy and surreal.
More about the historic hunger strike in the video below.
At 2am, after driving 11 hours straight on a cold and thankfully snowless night, I arrived in Vermont to a sharp and loving sign on the door of my friend Dana’s house. Before going to bed with the front door unlocked, Dana had convinced her partner Victor to turn up the heat so that I “wouldn’t become a Katie popsicle.” Logistical kindnesses, plus the magic of Dana’s grandmother’s down quilt (go to bed chilly; wake up toasty) … I am indeed a lucky one.
Hard to believe it’s my final semester of grad school at Goddard, in Plainfield, VT. Some of you might even remember when I started, three years ago.
On campus, between preparing for my portfolio / thesis semester and keeping up with work for Turning Wheel, it’s been heavy on indoor and computer time. Grateful that the blog pushes me to get outside, even with my cold-wimp self.