I grew up knowing my father was maybe a Gypsy, the kind that travelled around Ireland with beautiful spotted horses and painted caravan wagons. Or maybe my mother, like Janet of Carterhaugh, met Tam Lin in the forest and battled for him with the Queen of Fairies. The government told me she was 32, he […]
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From The Blog
The Thing About Birthdays
It’s my birthday, but the clouds are offended again because of something I’ve said or thought. Their bellies are full of dark-sick, gauzy vomit, pushing away the sky which doesn’t remember I’m nine today. People are talking about the moon, how there are men on it for the first time, but people have told me […]