Nicole Taylor lives in Eugene, Oregon. She has been an artist, a hiker, a poetry note taker, a sketcher, a volunteer and a dancer, formerly in DanceAbility in Salem, Oregon. Her poems have appeared in Boneshaker: A Bicycling Almanac, Camel Saloon; Cirque Journal; Clackamas, Literary Review; Graffiti 1; Just Another Art Movement Journal – New Zealand, West Wind Review among others. You can read and hear more of her poetry at oregonpoeticvoices.poet/312/, a collection of Oregon poets with written and audio poetry available online through Lewis & Clark College in Portland, Oregon.
now so often twinkling between the walls of my home —————–moving and stopping abruptly, a dance and fall
when embodied i almost didn’t notice ——————how it changed the vibration in the air ——poetry moves the tide of emotion =======================================================-this, i noticed
===========–for my body was water —— adherent
but spirit spirit
is this other element without ground or liquid or oxygen or heat ——————spirit is but ether ether ———————is my best bet ———-as i let my ghost consider what moves through me
there are notes like cold rain, sleet in early spring ——————and campfires in late summer cool autumn mornings with golden aspen coins
——————and there is heartbreak, the thought of him leaving my father’s hand softening ———– the strands loose from her braided hair
something about flowers —–and how long they last
Ashley Howell Bunn (she/they) completed her MFA in poetry through Regis University and holds a MA in Literature from Northwestern University. Their work has previously appeared in The Colorado Sun, Twenty Bellows, patchwork litmag, Mulberry Literary, Tiny Spoon, Champagne Room Journal and others. She is an experienced yoga guide trained in a variety of styles. Their first chapbook, in coming light, was published in 2022 by Middle Creek Publishing. She leads somatic writing workshops and writes a monthly Yoga, Tarot, and Astrology column for Writual.They are a founding member of The Tejon Collective, an inclusive creative space in Denver, CO.
this isn’t the rain we asked for it runs like lava down leeward rocks, seizes the cities, it looks like smoke sizzles on pavement like hot grease but might it still wed weeds to soil might corn still marry earth & sky in late july could it still caress valleys soak hollers dress mountains in a technicolor coat of wild- flowers temper flames that torch the mountainsides could the children still grow healthy & tall soft-skinned & singing to open acrid sky this isn’t the rain we asked for but it is the rain we’ve made love to dropped to one knee bound ourselves for life this could be a celebration windborn praise songs crawling toward mountaintops bodies dancing by moonlight bring your pots to the bonfire let us boil what drips off eaves- troughs into our gaping mouths