Red Wine Spills
—L. Ash Williams

I am hovering over this rug
with a hair dryer on high in my hand
I have finally, inevitably, spilled
red wine on this impractically white
housewarming hand-me-down from my cousin, who
clearly, and incorrectly, thought this was a good idea

With the help of a little panic,
sparkling water and a washcloth,
I am stunned by how quickly the wine washes out,
how I was sure this mistake would find me
every day with its gaping mouth, reminding me
of my own propensity for failure
and yet, here I am
with this clean slate

The rug is made of fur,
which means it died
to be here

It reminds me of my own survival
and everyone who has taught me
to shake loose the shadow of death

I think of inheritance, how this rug
was passed on to me through blood,
how this animal gave its blood
so that I may receive the gift of its death
and be grateful for it

I think of our inability
to control stories of origin
how history does not wash away
with water and a good scrub

I think of evolution,
what it means to make it through
this world with your skin intact,
how flesh is fragile
but makes a needle and thread
of itself when necessary

I think of all that I have inherited,
all the bodies buried for me to be here
and stay here, how I was born with grief
and gratitude in my bones

And I think of legacy,
how I come from a long line of sorcerers
who make good work of building
joy from absolutely nothing

And what can I do with that
but pour another glass,
thank the stars
for this sorceress blood
and keep pressing forward

I have finally, inevitably, spilled
red wine on this impractically white
housewarming hand-me-down from my cousin, who
clearly, and incorrectly, thought this was a good idea

With the help of a little panic,
sparkling water and a washcloth,
I am stunned by how quickly the wine washes out,
how I was sure this mistake would find me
every day with its gaping mouth, reminding me
of my own propensity for failure
and yet, here I am
with this clean slate

The rug is made of fur,
which means it died
to be here

It reminds me of my own survival
and everyone who has taught me
to shake loose the shadow of death

I think of inheritance, how this rug
was passed on to me through blood,
how this animal gave its blood
so that I may receive the gift of its death
and be grateful for it

I think of our inability
to control stories of origin
how history does not wash away
with water and a good scrub

I think of evolution,
what it means to make it through
this world with your skin intact,
how flesh is fragile
but makes a needle and thread
of itself when necessary

I think of all that I have inherited,
all the bodies buried for me to be here
and stay here, how I was born with grief
and gratitude in my bones

And I think of legacy,
how I come from a long line of sorcerers
who make good work of building
joy from absolutely nothing

And what can I do with that
but pour another glass,
thank the stars
for this sorceress blood
and keep pressing forward

Today I saw yet another post on Tumblr with a link to a site with “Free PDFs of Witchy Books!”, which had over 93,000 notes (likes and reblogs, for those not familiar with Tumblr speak).

Many of the books on this list are still in print, and the publishers are fairly vigorous about enforcing copyright and taking anti-piracy measures. Publishers share these links and lists with each other, because while we’re all competing for the same audience, we’re also trying to stay in business, individually and collectively.

If you want to read books for free, check them out from your local library. If your library doesn’t have one, ask about inter-library loan.

Check out Libby, an app that lets you check out ebooks and audio books for free from your local library.

Every time you download a book for free, you are picking the author’s pocket. You wouldn’t like it if someone stole your work, so why are you okay with stealing someone else’s work?

Speaking as a publisher, I pay a lot of money to bring a book into print and ebook form. My authors spend years writing, and the artists spend a great deal of their time creating the art.  When people pirate our books, I’m unable to cover the costs to create new books, and my authors and artists make no money. Right now, we have no new projects in the queue because, like most small businesses, we’ve been slammed by the pandemic, sales are down, and people still think it’s okay to pirate our titles.

If you want the information, pay for it. If you can’t pay for it, borrow it from your public library. But don’t pirate it—that’s theft, and what you are saying is that you are the kind of person who is okay that their spiritual practice is based on theft of others’ work.

And I bet that most of the people who pirate the books are also super-concerned about spiritual theft due to cultural appropriation.

Theft is theft.

Have a nice day.

“Stories like yours and worse than yours are all around, and your suffering won’t mark you out as special, though your response to it might.”
—Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby

Your brokenness does not make you special. Your brokenness is something that happened to you, but it is not the only thing that determines who you are.

Sometimes, we become so attached to our broken self that we refuse (consciously or otherwise) to engage in healing work because our brokenness is so tied to our identity, we don’t know who we are without it—and can’t imagine a new, healthier self.

Healing is then a frightening prospect, because it requires us to take action, to take responsibility for our well-being, and to find new ways of being and living that move us beyond our broken condition. As long as we stay broken, we don’t have to do anything except continue in our brokenness.

Our circumstances may be awful, and we may be miserable, but it’s familiar, even if it’s not comfortable.

We keep ourselves trapped in a negative comfort zone because we can’t imagine life being any other way.

Often, we’re told to imagine our best life and best self, and make those our goal. If you’re unemployed, poor, and depressed, that goal seems impossible.

Start with one thing. One achievable thing. It could be as simple as consistently doing the dishes each day before you go to bed, so they don’t stack up in the sink. Or changing your sheets once a week so your bed is pleasant. Or even just putting on shoes and walking around the block once a day so you’re not completely cut off from the world.

You’re not going to dramatically recreate your entire life in one day, but you can do one small thing each day to make a change, and those changes will accrue into a noticeable difference. And then you’ll find it easier to start working on other, larger changes. By doing one thing at a time, and letting those things accumulate, you can create a new life and a healthier self.

Choose to heal and be more your better self, and less your broken self.

Forgetfulness
~ Alfonsina Storni
Translated by Marion Freeman and Mary Crow

Lydia Rosa: today is Tuesday and it’s cold.
In your gray stone house, you sleep at the edge
Of the city. Do you still hang onto your lovesick heart
Now that you’ve died of love? I’ll tell you what’s happening.

The man you adored, the man with the cruel gray eyes,
He’s smoking his cigarette in the autumn afternoon.
From behind the windowpanes, he watches the yellow sky
And the street in which faded papers swirl.

He takes a book, draws near the cold heater,
And sitting down, he turns it on.
Only the noise of the clawed paper can be heard.

Five o’clock. You fell into his arms at that hour,
And maybe he remembers you . . . But his soft bed
Now holds the warm hollow of another rosy body.

For my US-based poets: The Academy of American Poets First Book Award is a $5,000 first-book publication prize. The winning manuscript, chosen by an acclaimed poet, is published by Graywolf Press, a leading independent publisher committed to the discovery and energetic publication of contemporary American and international literature.

The winner also receives an all-expenses-paid six-week residency at the Civitella Ranieri Center in the Umbrian region of Italy, distribution of the winning book to thousands of Academy of American Poets members, and promotion in American Poets magazine.

The 2021 judge is Claudia Rankine. Submissions will be accepted from September 16, 2020 to November 16, 2020.

This award was established in 1975 to encourage the work of emerging poets and to enable the publication of a poet’s first book. It is currently made possible by financial support from the members of the Academy of American Poets. From 1975 – 2020, the award was titled in tribute to Walt Whitman. Please see their website list of Walt Whitman Award winners.