Flora and Fauna

James Wolf

I break character through dynamic vocals and stray fingertips. The beach looks like me, sometimes: grainy, abundance of free speech, unintentionally waterlogged. But you, you live green: soiled, unrooted, an unexpected baptism in nature. Thirty times over. A clashing multiple of prints, seared and stained and loving, all working through the same tangles just to find what’s left in a woman. To find what’s left in a body.

Pies On The Sidewalk: A Gift Of Confidence From A Mother to Her Daughters

Dianne Blomberg, Ph.D.

My mom never knew she had actually prepared me the best way possible. She died thinking she had failed as a parent who should have protected her daughter. Because of her, I guarded myself and my daughters from a future of abuse, failure, and lost dreams. As a single mom, I didn’t have much to give my girls, but I gave them the confidence to become strong, determined women who have the courage to leave pies on the sidewalk when that’s the only option.

Day 225: Sequoia Sempervirens

Amye Archer

As I stand at the base of “The Giant,” a near three-hundred footer, I can think of nothing but our girls. How they swam to us against all odds. How they too are delicate yet strong. How they feel pressed against us, how their hair always smells like baby powder. These trees are magnificent, but they have nothing on the wonder of the thirty-year-old fuck ups who made the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen.