‘The quality of light by which we scrutinize our lives has direct bearing upon the product which we live, and upon the changes which we hope to bring about through those lives. It is within this light that we form those ideas by which we pursue our magic and make it realized. This is poetry as illumination, for it is through poetry that we give name to those ideas which are, until the poem, nameless and formless-about to be birthed, but already felt. That distillation of experience from which true poetry springs births thought as dream births concept, as feeling births idea, as knowledge births (precedes) understanding.’ Audre Lorde, “Poetry is Not a Luxury'“

The mosses remember that this is not the first time the glaciers have melted. If time is a line, as western thinking presumes, we might think this is a unique moment for which we have to devise a solution that enables that line to continue. If time is a circle, as the Indigenous worldview presumes, the knowledge we need is already within the circle; we just have to remember and let it teach us. That’s where the storytellers come in. -RWK

Every year, after birthday month adventures, I return, rejuvenated from east coast directness- sexy, smooth, and simple. Schnazzle in the speakEasy. Folx telling me what they want. I spread risky creativity (as in pleasure inducing intimacies expressed) over friendship, family, the familiar 5 generations deep.

Last night I watched a thousand footer leave the Twin Ports. After twenty two years in Duluth, I still marvel at how these ships move through open water. The gritty grand aesthetic equals an eye bending immensity, a slow soft rumble of engineered science, and enormity’s unbelievable ability to stay afloat. I also balked at the name of the boat. Bah “american integrity”. WTF?!

Yes, it’s the month I meld into my couch. I’ve been intimate with Women’s March Madness for 21 years. Every “spring'“ as winter on our bigLake refuses to give up center court, demanding another round of celebrity, reminding us who last/every year’s climactic champion is in wavy, drama-queen kind of ways, I watch. Embrace sweaty ESPN-flavored enthusiasms. And watch and watch.

Poetry penned after listening to fabulous episode of ‘Bedroom Eyes’ podcast (an intimate analysis of agency, ethics, relationships, and identity as experienced within oppressive systems of power hosted by badAss brown, queer, non-monogamous community organizer Juno Mariah) about autonomous relating- a not so distant moon of relationship anarchy.

Jordan’s Passion points us not to romantic love or sexual fury but to the tools she uses to make her work memorable, modern, experimental: urgency, time, music, pain, white space, marked silences, hushed pauses, earned wisdom, the language of the female psyche. 

Recently I was given a button. It reads “Pray for Sex”. I’ve pinned it to my jacket and often forget I’m wearing it- until I get laughs, compliments, or questions. The button reminds me why I started this blog. Why it’s so important to be outside our city’s only abortion clinic during this time of year. Visible and proud and securing space for all folx to make decisions about their bodies.

“There’s a lot of fetching at times about how the world is built for two, and how it holds this one style or this escalator up as a high-status relationship, and everything pales next to it. It’s a highly rigid and conforming way of [experiencing intimacy] that works for many people but doesn’t work for all. “