Author Archives: janishaag

The last time we made our waythrough the airport to visit the spotwhere he fell, his heart seizing ina kind of arrest he’d never imagined, we found it glassed-in and utterlydevoid of human life. The day hecollapsed, we stood, boarding … Continue reading →

I could not get warm. Or comfortableon the pullout chair that passed for a bed.But I got to be there—they didn’t send meaway, so far from home, him in the bed,resurrected on an airport floor afterthe cardiac arrest killed him. … Continue reading →

Not all of us are presentthe last time we exercisewith Marilyn on her frontlawn— our energetic leader away,others otherwise engaged—and nothing is spokenabout this moment as Amy leads us throughleg lifts and bicep curls,toe rises and all mannerof stretches. But … Continue reading →

I will always love youin the shelter of my mindon the edges of a meadowwhere the sun shines all the time —”Meadow: from The Book of Rounds,”Emil Adler and Ryan Heller with The Austin Chamber Ensemble ••• There you are,on … Continue reading →

It’s a garret, I tell people—really justan upstairs studio in a former autobody shop-turned-arts-center where people come to write with me, a spaceI thankfully inherited, sweetly outfittedwith bookshelves, long tables and red chairs, even the paisley tableclothon the snack table. … Continue reading →

Every week I usually forget most of the basics:a) you are loved. b) life is absurd. c) it’s hard to be a human. —Kate Bowler ••• Why is this so difficult to etchinto your consciousness? Becauseyou find it hard to … Continue reading →

I thought it might be helpful for Youto have some information about me.Written down, you know? On paper? Of course, You know everything.Work history, educational path,all the skills and references—though those don’t mean spitanymore. Like the paper, which,as You well … Continue reading →

The unfilled air space, the interval,the gap in the vascular tissue ofa stem through which a leaf grows,unseen to our wondering eyes—the lacuna— air space in the cellular tissueof plants like the onespresently flourishingoverhead in suchabundance. Seemingly thousandsof leaves have … Continue reading →

(for Billy Collins, author of the poem,“Taking Off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes,”on the 138th anniversary of her death,May 15, 1886 ) You will want to knowthat she said yes every time,that she undressed him, too—no shy maid, that one—that, no matter … Continue reading →

(for Georgann) You got me in the chair the first time,my feet marinating in a small pondof warm, swirling water. This is gonna change your life,you assured me. Painted toenails? I wondered. The from-the-knees-down massage,you said, and yes, polka dot … Continue reading →