ALT People might bring up Vincent van Gogh as an example of a painter who did great work in spite of, or because of, his suffering. I like to think that van Gogh would have been even more prolific and even greater if he wasn’t so restricted by the things tormenting him. I don’t think it was pain that made him so great, I think painting brought him whatever happiness he had. —David Lynch

ALT Tired by Langston Hughes I am so tired of waiting, Aren’t you, For the world to become good And beautiful and kind? Let us take a knife And cut the world in two — And see what worms are eating At the rind.

ALT Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you. by Gabrielle Calvocoressi Do not care if  you just arrive in your skeleton. Would love to take a walk with you. Miss you. Would love to make you shrimp saganaki. Like you used to make me when you were alive. Love to feed you. Sit over steaming bowls of pilaf. Little roasted tomatoes covered in pepper and nutmeg. Miss you. Would love to walk to the post office with you. Bring the ghost dog. We’ll walk past the waterfall and you can tell me about the after. Wish you. Wish you would come back for a while. Don’t even need to bring your skin sack. I’ll know you. I know you will know me even though. I’m bigger now. Grayer. I’ll show you my garden. I’d like to hop in the leaf pile you raked but if you want to jump in? I’ll rake it for you. Miss you standing looking out at the river with your rake in your hand. Miss you in your puffy blue jacket. [ran out of space. poem also here: https://tinyurl.com/missyoupoem]

ALT Obligations 2 by Layli Long Soldier As we embrace resist the future the present the past we work we struggle we begin we fail ​ to understand to find to unbraid to accept to question the grief the grief the grief the grief we shift we wield we bury​ into light as ash across our faces

ALT Red by Mary Ruefle I fucking depended on you and you left the fucking wheelbarrow out and it’s fucking raining and now the white chickens are fucking filthy

ALT close-up of a pink can of lychee-flavored sparkling water with the description “The 1st Asian-inspired sparkling water”

ALT I Still Have Everything You Gave Me by Naomi Shihab Nye It is dusty on the edges. Slightly rotten. I guard it without thinking. Focus on it once a year when I shake it out in the wind. I do not ache. I would not trade.

ALT Of the Empire We will be known as a culture that feared death and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity for the few and cared little for the penury of the many. We will be known as a culture that taught and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke little if at all about the quality of life for people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a commodity. And they will say that this structure was held together politically, which it was, and they will say also that our politics was no more than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of the heart, and that the heart, in those days, was small, and hard, and full of meanness.

ALT Meditations in an Emergency By Cameron Awkward-Rich I wake up & it breaks my heart. I draw the blinds & the thrill of rain breaks my heart. I go outside. I ride the train, walk among the buildings, men in Monday suits. The flight of doves, the city of tents beneath the underpass, the huddled mass, old women hawking roses, & children all of them, break my heart. There’s a dream I have in which I love the world. I run from end to end like fingers through her hair. There are no borders, only wind. Like you, I was born. Like you, I was raised in the institution of dreaming. Hand on my heart. Hand on my stupid heart.

ALT Farewell Federico García Lorca 1898 – 1936 translated by Jenny Minniti-Shippey If I die, Leave the balcony open. The boy is eating oranges. (From my balcony I hear him.) The reaper scythes the wheat. (From my balcony I feel it.) If I die, Leave the balcony open!

ALT I don’t want to live a small life by Mary Oliver I don’t want to live a small life. Open your eyes, open your hands. I have just come from the berry fields, the sun kissing me with its golden mouth all the way (open your hands) and the wind-winged clouds following along thinking perhaps I might feed them, but no I carry these heart-shapes only to you. Look how many how small but so sweet and maybe the last gift I will ever bring to anyone in this world of hope and risk, so do. Look at me. Open your life, open your hands.

ALT I know Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up. But I refuse to talk with or see you and Dad again until you both acknowledge and seriously apologize for all the harm you have caused me over many years. I am very angry at both of you. You have been abusive, violent parents and have caused me a lot of pain. I've just wanted to live as myself and you've made me feel like a monster and like I should just die. You've told me repeatedly that you don't have a son, I'm dead to you, I shouldn't have been born, etc. All just because I am gay. It should not be a big deal at all. But you refused to treat me with kindness or dignity. It continues to hurt me a lot. I know you've also taken care of me in a lot of ways, especially with food and financial support. I appreciate all of that. But I don't think you've given me actual love or respect. I don't want to have anything to do with you until you actually apologize.