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Photography by Adam Coleman

we called it the Nunnery.

8 months

4 women

under one roof—

counting the dog.

we healed in that house.

cutting palm leaves

in nightgowns

and laughter

on a ladder.

“don’t fall with the saw

in hand.”

whipped cream

in our coffee

and kimonos

on our backs

sound bathes

in the grass

and prayers

at the table

late enchiladas

that tasted like love.

that fire—

I tried to put it out

with a pot of water

but Nance found the hose.

we stared

as steam came up

out of that little bird house.

“I better call your mother.”


we burned letters

old bills

documents from the IRS

in the chiminea

and that godforsaken drawing

of women with claws.

and the cats watching

from a corner of sun.

fat animals

hopping around

the backyard

and sometimes

we need only

to sit with the trees

and let the healing come.

furry pieces of god

at our sides.

how we’ve all grown

I twirled for you

in my new dress

two mothers

watching me become.

a little girl

a grown up girl

and a boy

all at once.

and no one

needed to understand

and we all understood

and a house to hold us

where mom clicked

20 years clean.

God’s grace,

When you’ve seen it, huh?

animals came

and went

and came again

like my youth

always a part of me.

a home.

Photography by Adam Coleman


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