Mornings I shake out the window shades and let in light. Tiny invisible dust particles moving through the air become visible, a living room galaxy, whirling in destructive orbit paths, then slowly settling. If they are light enough and not too near the wind path of a door, the tiny matter suspend and maybe rise […]
Amy Hosig: Shrimp
Bless these shrimp from Sing Hing Restaurant that I am about to eat, that spent their life, hopefully, jetting about in odd, propulsive motion without minds and before language. Oh you little shrimp who involuntarily died for me, make me, like the intelligent whale, able to change you into song.