“I don’t dream of labor”
Prompt: Write about the most interesting job you’ve had. “I don’t dream of labor…”
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“March Forth!” A birthday poem for Saturn’s return
My grandpa, a WWII vet who suffered “shell shock,” always said to me, “Your birthday’s the only date that’s a command.” And it’s served me well. My friend started to tell me about her near-death experience. Wading in a 4-foot swimming pool fed by thermal springs in Colorado, her boyfriend interrupted her to say something…
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A poem about my mother’s cervix
“A Poem About My Mother’s Cervix” She had 3 kids carved out of her—“guts in a bucket,” estradiol dreams, and a reopened scar in the shape of her name: a ‘C.’ The first, though, was natural: a perfect baby boy who “hardly ever cried,” who played trombone in band and straddled straight A’s his whole…
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“My Furrowed Brow” — A poem about the Israeli conflict
Recorded 3/18/26 at Gypsy Coffee in Tulsa, Oklahoma “My Furrowed Brow” is my response to the Hamas – Israeli conflict set off by the October 7, 2024, attacks. I hope it helps you see that people on both sides of the conflict are just that: people, with complicated histories and bottomless faith. Enjoy! “My Furrowed…
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Following My Feet (Not My Gut) to Cobán: Backpacking Guatemala is NOT for the Faint of Heart
TL;DR always make a reservation I arrived late in Cobán off two seven-hour mountain bus rides. My Chichicastenango homestay hosts had told me, “No, no, don’t stay in Uzpantan overnight. It’s kind of a shithole. There’s nothing there for you. No hotels, nothing to do. Go on to Cobán. It’s better there.” So when I…
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“Ariel” — A poem about backpacking Guatemala
Written 8/23/25 after a season spent backpacking Guatemala Note: Drafted on my ex-boyfriend’s birthday, a Dreamer. He paid for our third-date drinks with his Ecuadorian passport: 8 years old in the picture. He married the next girl he dated—the clean-up woman—for certainty. I wonder if they’re still together. He described his constant fear of discovery,…
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How to Backpack Guatemala, or American Imperialism on Work-cation
This past May, I stuck my stuff in storage, and my backpack and I took a one-way plane ride to Guatemala City. Of course, the locals call their capital city “Guatemala,” or “Guate,” so you’d better know where you’re going. I barely did. I knew I was staying in Guate for three nights at a…
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Not all my baggage fits in a backpack
Some ends up as stories. Fate Weavers is my personal archive of what it means to be alive and awake in this messy, interconnected world. Through poetry, essays, and travelogues, I explore how humanity came to be this way… and where we might be headed. This isn’t your typical travel blog filled with “top 10…
