Tag Archives: rain of apples

predation

Posted on May 21, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

i forgive myself for choosing to be a predator. for sharp teeth and an active imagination. for killing my meat, in an age when killing is a luxury, not a need. i forgive myself for raising birds to be slaughtered, … Continue reading →

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blooming

Posted on May 21, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

the world is made of wildflowers and you and i bloom in it. or maybe i am made of wildflowers and you bloom in me. or it’s the sun, and we lay open, exposed and vulnerable, hearts beating, breath drawn … Continue reading →

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i put down roots

Posted on May 19, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

i put down roots as easy as breathing. fine filaments tangling, binding up the soil wherever i stop. i have roots left in houses, towns, ecologies i’ve left behind– and some in places i’ve never been, borne there like potted … Continue reading →

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edges burn more readily

Posted on May 19, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

edges burn more readily than centers. setting an edge alight is a simple matter, though putting it out again may not be, if it is inclined towards fire, incendiary, interested in burning. the center doesn’t light so well unless you … Continue reading →

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