Author: Shana Ross
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The Year We Became Stars
The satellite photos of cities at night let us believe human hubs are neurons – firing, sparking, all the lights melting into a honey broth the way people won’t quite flow into a solution, suspended equally as walls dissolve. From far away the seaboard bleeds, pumping. Can astronauts hear our whoosh, stethoscopes pressed…
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But Did You Do Your Part?
unintended, not unexpected / in the deep woods, a pretty little girl / wandered / & when she saw / the fire, she leapt to action / no hesitation / she knew little of fire / O yes it must be dangerous / best controlled by smothering / she decided / she ran towards it…
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In Grief, In Beauty, Intention
My own body has been trying to get me to understand, telegraphs dots and dashes, down, there – clench of kegel, of sphincter: yes yes yes – Noooo. Noooo. Noooo. Yes yes yes – help, I swoon, help, I wander over to vomit, in the dark when I am as close to alone as one…
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Pantoum for the Tension
a cento the arc of every origin story and account of how we came to be is rife with tension between chaos and order maps in space and time that we are continually improving what is there and seen but also what is there and unseen rife with tension between chaos and order all visible…
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Visited
We missed the star charts speckling the eggs of crows – a commission that worked well for the birds, who have no interest in ruling, yet on occasion love to upend our hubris, when we notice the joke is on us, pointed as a well knapped flint. The bees danced the coordinates wiggles and hops…