The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
Subscribe and Save up to 55%
Ellery Akers’s latest poetry collection is Swerve: Poems on Environmentalism, Feminism, and Resistance. She lives in the country near Point Reyes National Seashore in California and recently completed a series of drawings and paintings called Love Letters to California.
He sits on the mattress on the floor and unties his sneakers carefully. He spreads his laces to the sides of his shoes, as if they deserved respect.
I’d broken up with my boyfriend, and my sister had broken up with hers and sprained her ankle. She was furious and weeping and mad at herself for weeping, because her mascara was running. She sat in front of her mirror and stroked on fresh mascara, picked up her false eyelashes and stuck them on as if she hated them, slapped her cheeks with her powder puff so hard that powder floated around her in the air.
By the time I left college and became a naturalist, I knew that change was slow and difficult. At thirty I felt stuck, as if my life had stiffened around me, and for some reason, perhaps unconscious at the time, I began to get interested in insect metamorphosis.