Joyce

This was a place of comfort once.Enveloped in memories and ghosts, my days feel endless, short, repetitive. Time is slippery until Tuesdays—most Tuesdays, anyways. I've been called to the cabin to grieve a mother, a body, an ideal love. I've escaped for clarity, and the deep breath I can't take anywhere else.As I settle in, the unexpected finds me. It sneaks in through shattering glass and rustling leaves. It's seen and unseen, felt and heard and known.Though the world is dark from where I am now, healing seems possible. If only I can get out onto the lake. If only I'm able to understand the house witch as much as she did. If only I learn the ways of the woods like Dad. If only.I will speak with the birds. I will become the sky. I will come undone and remake myself. But who will I be on the other side?Quiet and evocative, Joyce is embodied dark crip magical realism examining life in a haunted body.