The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space. ~Italo Calvino
Commonplace book of a teacher, poet, and counselor.
I’ve never been far enough from home
to escape all the things that I can no longer take care of. The
farthest place I’ve been from you is right by your side, across
an entire circumference of a planet, pressing my palms
against your palms, all the oceans
right between us.
The heart, a prison inmate, and a bluejay
all walked into cell bars.
There is no punchline. This is just another metaphor
for having twenty-four ribs around the part of me that I want to
set free the most.
I dreamt once of sending myself in a bottle off to sea,
corking the screw over my head and letting the water pull me
closer to somewhere where my language is a foreign
When I woke up, there was rain spitting against my windowsill
and the roof was caving in so close that it brushed up
against my knees.
The heart, a prison inmate, and a bluejay all walked into cell bars. There is no punchline. This is just another...