Tag Archives: Devon Bohm

Grackling

The inquisitive grackles in our trees (may trees belong to anyone?) have become my translators. I no longer remember what it is to be a part of the wider world, wan in my nightlong spiraling, lips chapped with worries and … Continue reading

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March & April

Bumblebees on the lupin and I am baking bread with our lavender, I am turning on all our lamps later now and the clouds are diaphanous again, no longer threatening to dump all of winter out on top of us—it’s … Continue reading

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Swimming Lessons

I lived most of my life near water and now I find myself trapped inland. I miss the ocean, but even a waterfall would do. All I want is that ordinary thing we all take for granted, pouring from our … Continue reading

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To Say What I Should Have Ten Years Ago

Burned the pads of my fingers on the hot stovetop and now I give false fingerprints wherever I travel. A trick, a trick, but not a cruel-intentioned one— I don’t know who I am except not myself, not in any … Continue reading

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White, White Teeth

I have entered many a vivarium and they’ve always let me leave— like pain, wild is something not necessarily seen from the outside. You are looking at me as if I’m the goat in a Chagall painting— it works, somehow, … Continue reading

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