miresistencia

In the summer you write in the morning.

What can I tell you that you don’t already know? The 101 in Ventura County in June smells strawberry sweet. There are paintings of seagulls on a wall in town, circling a convertible. My sister-in-law is 8 and a half months pregnant and I never got to hug her when her belly was big…

Against Patriarchy: 20 Tools for Men to Further Feminist Revolution

THIS. Every time I get discouraged (and forget that Hope means standing despite the ordeal of obstacles with which you are confronted) Life delivers something like THIS…

It happened every place we ever lived. I hated cleaning.

This little hobbit house. I can count on one finger the amount of times I have cleaned it, like scrub cleaned the way I was taught when I was a girl. When I was clean, like sober clean, almost two years, I had moved into my first place just for me, no roommates. It was…

Beltane Moon

On the rise

Big ol magic moon: Lunar Beltane in the hills

That big ol silly moon, just a stand out in the sky like someone shot a paint ball up there and smack-landed it on the flat east canvas, a perfect white slab. She was staring at me while the sun was still out. A smile I couldn’t reach or run from, just had to laugh…

The words

I don’t even remember what the words feel like when they move through my body anymore. Instead, I feel the memory of them which is alive in me like some vine whose roots are cement. The stopped growth is wagging in the almost not blowing air and can’t move at all in its base. This…

The body it reminds you

Sister leans over, says I smell rain. As soon as it’s said, there it is, the dirt-metal scent. God California, so full of wimps, at least west of the 5. Everyone complaining about the heat. It is only 85, there is a breeze coming up under the trees which happens when you live beside the…

If you’re lucky, it slows your flow. On Grace.

The thing you don’t know til you live here is the way palm tree leaves look when they bend in the wind. The Santa Ana’s. They’re real. They come sailing down the canyon with whole lists of lusty springtime wants. You hear them ranting and can barely breathe. High white-sun days of Santa Ana wind…

Looks, cast with wary

And here it is, moonlight again; we’ve bathed in the river and are sweet and wholesome once more. We kneel side-by-side in the sand; we worship each other in whispers. But the inner parts remember the fermenting hay, the comfortable odor of dung, the animal incense, and passion, its bloody labor its birth and rebirth…