instructions: hand-wash

The washing machine did not come into

work this week

We thought it’d be an unraveling,

an undone

bundle on our shoulders


it was a seam in solidarity

with women of past and present

a string pulling us back in time and across the globe –

however small of a tug a week of experience can muster

slipping out of mind

and into hands for


water &

escaping pockets of air in

the wringing of crisscrossed fibers,

We thought only machine could do

this. Did we forget about before

machine? When we were merely

human at the stream.

The strength of our hands, women we are

crisscrossed souls

in the fabric of existence.

A cord of three is stronger than one.

An interweaving of queen, infinite is

the strength spooled through

generation and place knit into a powerful

shawl for all occasions.


volcanic ash

a sign of time, of leftover loves, a signal that shifts the tectonic plates of chasms we thought had once been properly stitched up

only to wander upon them and find, they’d just been laid dormant

the roundest, warmest salt water tear rolled out, we let it commemorate

remembrance, a battle scar, a battle cry

one hundred and four years later, still eruptions

signs of love, of loss

a simple excuse for our defeat, and a victorious reason for our persistence, to love deeper, to love wider, to love more consistently

“to go to the places that challenge who we think we want to become”