“Hold onto hope if you got it / Don’t let it go for nobody / And they say that dreaming is free / But I wouldn’t care what it costs me” Continue reading “Brazen Hope”
Category Archives: The Human Experience
Litany of Fractures
One. If the sound of your voice was the only thing that the people you love the most would hear for the rest of their life, what would you want it to sound like? What would you say? What words would persist no matter the wreckage? There are distinct moments when my mind focuses onContinue reading “Litany of Fractures”
The house builder
“I love you.” Her words to me—some of her last to anybody before she fell into an alive sleep, then stuttering and side-stepping into passing. She held on until she couldn’t anymore. Even though I wasn’t with her when she left, I will carry these words with me to remind myself that loveContinue reading “The house builder”
On Being a Writer.
In an interview with Studs Terkel in December of 1961, James Baldwin is quoted saying “… education demands a certain daring, a certain independence of mind. You have to teach some people to think; and in order to teach some people to think, you have to teach them to think about everything. There mustn’t be somethingContinue reading “On Being a Writer.”
This mind
its tactful complexities come to the surface to see how much sunlight it can gather. Taking root, it convinces me that every plane I get on will only touch down in pieces, scattered across plains where nobody exists. It reminds me of how human I am when death takes someone away from their lives andContinue reading “This mind”
To Charlotte: Part One
The person, not the city. To be read when you’re ready, which I recognize you won’t know until you know. This is part one of the X amount of letters I’ll write you between now and forever. Spreading ashes like memories across a lifetime of lifting heavy things so Charlotte has a well-lit path toContinue reading “To Charlotte: Part One”
A letter to my father
In the span of five months, a friend of mine passed away at 27 and my grandmother passed away at 93. Ever since then I’ve faced this sort of undeniable truth that we all will turn to dust at some point. All living things don’t live forever–some live longer than others, some sooner than most–andContinue reading “A letter to my father”
Craft practice
Every April, the literary world turns their collective eyes to poetry in an effort to observe National Poetry Month. I, too, find myself paying extra attention to poetry during these days, even more than I usually do. Every day is another opportunity to find the words in my bones that I’ve hidden for safekeeping. ItContinue reading “Craft practice”
3:01 PM
Over the course of the last couple of months, my mother has grown weary from worry. My grandmother wasn’t doing well; she wasn’t eating and found herself in the hospital. She had some okay days, but mostly it felt like she was holding on for the sake of holding on. “You might want to come homeContinue reading “3:01 PM”
R. Francis Williford 