ever thought about how, like bark, our skin is simply a surface being lived in?
my sister sent me this snapshot from inside my 8-year-old niece’s brain and I’m like: yes. the poetry gene lives on.
from “be here to love me at the end of the world” by sasha fletcher ☁️☁️
Spring seems like a good time to revisit this poem, originally published in a Plants & Poetry House anthology. If you haven’t heard of them and you’re a nature enthusiast, consider this a sign and go check them out!
Paige Ryan
Paige Ryan
Paige Ryan
Paige Ryan
🚂
Don’t count your chickens.
A record of the thaw.
There’s nothing to do. Only a full commitment to being.
[If you’re also in need of this mantra, well, there it is]
I’m not sure when I became the strange woman that walks through the park petting trees but I’m not exactly mad about it. Isn’t it nice? How soft the leaves are as newborns.
