Lost in the Forest of Feelings – Rachel Wyman
Rachel Wyman is a dancer and creative arts therapist from Walla Walla, Washington. She resides in Brooklyn, New York, where she works with psychiatric patients in a public hospital.
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Rachel Wyman is a dancer and creative arts therapist from Walla Walla, Washington. She resides in Brooklyn, New York, where she works with psychiatric patients in a public hospital.
Yes, you were intense as incense, both elegance and coherence, a bull to my china shop, the red to my pepper, the miel to my chamo tea. But you wrote me off as a bohemian storm. Never mind that I was gibberish to your jarble, the spark to your spur, the spit to your fire. […]
The boy with the amblyopic squint and his aunt are in the fields, furrowing dirt banks around wilted dwarf apple trees. The sun doesn’t feel millions of miles away. It’s a bright, infernal heat, closing the boy’s lazy eye further. It’s also stressing the saplings plagued with flathead borers. The beetles are eating through trunks, […]
The spiders in my room are growing. They keep the mosquito population in check. Smeared corpses speckle my walls. My sheets are stained with red wax from that time I fell asleep with a candle burning. I have off-brand M&M’s in my closet. My plants need watering but the sink’s too far. There are dust […]
I’d like to go no further than I can throw a stone, no higher than my head, no faster than my legs, progressing slowly as the ocean frittering rocks into sand. I’ll dance as long and live as fast as a snowflake lifted into the sky, and watch the puddles harden into glaze, sparing in […]
Pain comes on soft cat feet, curls up on my lower belly, waits until its weight becomes intolerable and will not move even when force is used: oxycodone and cannabis. Insufficient crowbars to move a fluid weight.
The first time you babysit for the Watson boys, their father sits down at the kitchen table and tells you about the rules. He’s written them down on a sheet of paper and says he’ll stick it to the fridge, just in case you forget, even though they’re the same rules everybody else has: no […]
We drank red wine lounging on a white bedspread. These were the danger days. “When are you going to play me your song?” I was singing along to the Spotify station, something about being in love with a car. If I took care not to look at Merin, the singing might mellow me out until […]
They pulled the tube that piped the poison into your heart. Words like remission are still too sacred to speak openly. Only dare you whisper silently on bended knee. In each day passing you rediscover highway bike rides, swimming in summer moonlights by crackling fires. All too fragile to call by name (healthy, awake, alive). Take each moment […]
1. CAN 810-1 Peggy’s Cove Rte 333: A foreground of unreceptive, imperious granite, but we know that waves must reach shore. 2. WA 91-1 Clallam Port Angeles Dock: The ferry to Victoria, B.C. has departed one minute before 8pm for its last trip north. An indifferent wake inevitably must reach shore. 3. WA 149 Jefferson […]
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