A Space Where Story Counts

A creative outlet for me to express my story Main account @thelittlebumblybee

[yocuento]

“I support their demand that Sk’aliCh’elhtenaut be returned to her home, which is her name, return her to her name, which is her home. Can you not hear that? Her name is Home. She should be there inside her name.”

—Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Undrowned

[likeafieldmouse-deactivated2015]

Monotropa Uniflora

“Also known as the ghost plant, Indian pipe, or corpse plant. 

Unlike most plants, it is white and does not contain chlorophyll. Instead of generating energy from sunlight, it is parasitic, more specifically a myco-heterotroph. Its hosts are certain fungi that are mycorrhizal with trees, meaning it ultimately gets its energy from photosynthetic trees. Since it is not dependent on sunlight to grow, it can grow in very dark environments as in the understory of dense forest. It is often associated with beech trees. 

The complex relationship that allows this plant to grow also makes propagation difficult.

The plant is sometimes completely white but commonly has black flecks and a pale pink coloration. Rare variants may have a deep red color.”

[yocuento]

There is no expectation;

You are,

So you are loved

-SH 9.7.2022

[third-nature]

The significance of storytelling in climate change narratives, by Atmos

[yocuento]

A language I want to learn

I want to learn a language

The one that feels like coming home

What language do I speak now

It doesn’t feel like home

It feels like water in my lungs

It feels like glass on my tongue that shatters every time I speak

With a sound everyone can hear

With a pain everyone can feel

It feels like drowning

Am I still valuable with my single glass tongue?

Am I still valuable with no connection?

Isn’t that what you wanted?

Isn’t that enough?

Maybe if I learned the language of the tutumairekurai and manatee

I’ll learn a vocabulary large enough to hold our sadness

I’ll learn the language of home and how to carry the weight of what we’ve lost

Even with water in my lungs

I’d learn to speak and pour out all I have to offer

Even if all I have to give is my body to the earth

‘Let me mean something’

I will scream until my tongue has been smoothed by turbid waters

I will scream until I am surrounded by an ocean

Now with emptied lungs and a sea glass tongue

I’ll stand in the body I’ve created

Am I valuable now?

—SH 12.3.21

[yocuento]

A collection of thoughts on growth and the color green

Poem in the second picture is From the Desire Field by Natalie Diaz, Postcolonial Love Poem