Skip to Content

Search: {{$root.lsaSearchQuery.q}}, Page {{$}}

Where will you be in two years—be as optimistic or pessimistic as you like. Return the note written to you yesterday, to the person who wrote to you, describing the place you are in as much sensory detail as possible.

Life Lessons

My knuckles are white holding on tight
Your whole life I have kept you healthy or as safe as I could
Now you are in control and I can only hope your skills are good
Look out! <-> Don’t shout
As we are moving and talk
I think - I should walk
It’s not so far that we needed the car
I sigh through my strife
I know it’s just life
This too I will survive, your learning to drive.

By Aiden Ramirez-Tatum

I once imagined this house with you
I thought, a house with many rooms,

I pictured, a house with pea-green walls
I crafted handfuls, tornados, squalls,

And I thought that you'd be here with me.

(—and instead; Ozarks, pines, and the river:
a tall tall man outstretched forever)

I crush hickory nuts on a log
I walk in the dewy morning, maybe a dog

and I feel your absence.

By S. Atticus O.

mmmmmmmmm mmmmmm cawmmm

Good morning, Crow
                               Good morning, Crane.
Any dreams tonight?
                                    A few, and you?
Another letter - years ago.
                                   Might my name?
O, yes, little bird, your scrawl.
                                       Where it flew?
                                            Yes. You?
I’m sorry.
                               I know.
                          Me too.
                       I know


I have searched and searched and still
I have not found him. Not as you describe. You
now on a calved slick of ice, in your chair,
sailing somewhere alone. The thread
of your voice turns skyward, into a scrawl
of cirrus that will soon
cross the sky over the backyard
where I stand, chiseling
               It’s February.
               You overhead in your
chariot, riding the cloud circuit, administer
the cure.