Author Archives: janishaag

So on the third day of Lent I’ve got COVID,it turns out, the day after a day of travelwhen so many strangers came to my aidas I made my way on public transportationin a city not my own. I think … Continue reading →

•••(On the 2:05 p.m. ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge Island)••• (for Georgann) I don’t remember the names of all the ferrieswe rode across the water from your islandto the mainland. And I don’t think I ever got out of the … Continue reading →

You’d think it’d be simple,to allow the stomach to swell,feel the balloons of your lungs to fill,your chest to rise like one of those balloonslifting skyward —and breathe. But you find that as you try to inhale,the vines you once … Continue reading →

Love’s arrow pierces,not always in the romantic sense, but always square in the heart,injecting sweet venom that, if we are lucky, fills our veins,infecting us with so much affection for this one and that oneand that one, our dearest who … Continue reading →

And we pray, notfor new earth or heaven, but to bequiet in heart, and in eyeclear. What we need is here. —Wendell Berry, from “The Wild Geese” ••• (for Dickie on his 81st birthday) Even on the coldest days, when … Continue reading →

(noun: German (zane-zookt) yearning; wistful longing) We hear it in friends’ voices in the coldest places,in regions where they’ll be lucky to see spring by May, that wistful longing for somethingnot icy and cold, or even just wet and cold. … Continue reading →

“Her words, written to bridge the gap between us, cut through space and time.”— Genevieve Kingston, “She Put Her Unspent Love in a Cardboard Box” (The New York Times) (for Georgann) I have her letters scrawled in hernever-warm flat in … Continue reading →

Letter by letter, we assemble building blocksthat tower, that align, that make our lipspurse with sound, that we spit out as words linked like train cars, coupling and un-,rearranging into sentences, paragraphs,pages that, written down or spoken, become language. Yours … Continue reading →

If you plant them, they will write—or so you hope, tending the crop of tiny pencils-to-be,imagining the little sprouts growing up to color the worldin so many shades of green, testament to your devotionyour love for the drawings, the words, … Continue reading →

For years I looked at the waxy blobssprouting green stalks from the top,often wearing little collars that said,no watering necessary, which made no sense, conditionedas I am to watering outdoor plantsfor more than half a year and indoorones till I … Continue reading →