journeys in wild truth-telling
by Angela Dawson I don’t want to go there—to the dark. I’ve crossed a threshold—remember the whole-body woosh of energy as it left. But I know it. Notebooks full of rushed wild writing. Words I couldn’t say to anyone because, mostly, they weren’t my stories to tell. I remember the dead, the hollow, the ‘what’s […]
by Angela Dawson I started a fire in my dreams last night. It was only small. A few bits of twigs and kindling. Portable. Somehow, I held it in my hands. Carried it with me. Inside and out. I thought it had gone out, but there was still a trail of lingering smoke in the […]
by Angela Dawson The food scraps are out of the freezer. Potato peelings. Giblets. Onion skins. Dug-out pumpkin pips and flesh, the ghosts of hollowed-out Halloween lanterns. Chicken bones. Carrot peelings. They all end up in the large stainless steel pot. A few cloves of garlic, skin on. A dash of mother apple cider vinegar. […]
