Writing my way back home

It’s been a minute and maybe a minute more. Finding a path. A way forward. A clarity of reason and purpose.

And not to eschew politics and all the other swirling difficulties of our time and place in the world–but one does also need to be located in things outside of it all, even as one sets aside the time for a haircut and simple braids while nursing a fractured humerus bone.

The deeper things are something else again:

Negotiating grief. An arc of the lifetime spent with another.