Episode 122 – Sara Scott / Melissa Kwasny – Archeologist Sara Scott reflects on the sense of kinship evoked when viewing Montana’s ancient petroglyphs. She pairs her thoughts with a prose poem from Melissa Kwasny’s recent volume, Pictograph. http://ow.ly/2YBs0o
“Not in my house,” mom slammed her hand down against the counter for added effect, rattling the stoneware. Her smoker’s-tenor peaked on the word, “my,” reminding me I was not the one that made decisions in the house. After all, I was fourteen and a freshman at Helena High School. “You are not bringing that Satanic bullshit into my house.” Her voice peaked again, this time emphasizing “bullshit” and “my.”
Continue reading Not In My House
To run with the croak of ravens,
to twist my fingertips into the edges of ponderosa bark
which is the sweetness of vanilla.
To feel my breath freeze to my face
as the city crams into cars
and plumes of carbon monoxide. Read the rest of this entry »
Falling diligently into background
noise; jumping puddles, back and forth.
We can hardly ever be where we’re going.
Our days stun into beginning, and then slowly end.
We strain against light, dip our arms in ink, and
duplicate characters, as we govern an constituent
emptiness. Constituent. The way rajahs, the way
emperors palely dreamed.
Inclined into exodus,
First line: I broke through the ice under the Higgins Street Bridge during lunch break from Hellgate High School in 1983.
Continue reading Unfinished Story