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Walton Goggins, Interview mag
“It took many years of vomiting up all the filth I’d been taught about myself, and half-believed, before I was able to walk on the earth as though I had a right to be here.”
— James Baldwin, from “They Can’t Turn Back”
I Guess By Now I Thought I'd Be Done With Shame (Franny Choi)
but I opened my coat to prove a point and kept coming home with colds. I thought I was done stuffing fists in my mouth to mute the sound. Done lying about what trails my throat had charted. I practiced looking tall men in the eye, spoke loudly, pronounced every ‘R.’ I chopped wood at midnight. I left the shower and kept singing. I sang about my body like I was proud. I was proud. I was – My legs churned the poolwater. I clamped silicone and didn’t cry. Learned the names of oils. Asked for another finger. I cried. Swore to drown before saying sorry. I sang about my death like I was over it. Ground my face into the soil, like I was ready to shave it off. I stopped shaving. Told a joke in the voice of a stupid girl. I waved a flag of my own bones. I threw my sordid liver at a man – think fast – then acted surprised, again, when he caught it in his teeth. Not everyone who speaks this way is lying. Somewhere, there is a version of me that isn’t neck- deep in her invented filth. Somewhere a woman is walking barefoot through the woods, trailing white linen, walking without a dog snapping at her heels. Both of us are singing. Both of us are bragging in the past tense. One of us is still here. That much, I guess, at least, is true.
Sharon Olds, “The Chute”
Natalie Díaz, from “From the Desire Field”, Postcolonial Love Poem
birds flying over the jurassic canyon of Iceland
Joy Sullivan, from Instructions for Traveling West: Poems; “Howl”
because the color is half the taste by Paige Lewis
David Whyte, “Self Portrait”
XIII (dedications) by Adrienne Rich
Would anyone like some friendly llama kisses in these trying times?
Nate Hoil presents... Book Zero: Uncollected Poems. Available TODAY.