I just got back from my friend’s apartment where we ate tacos and an orange cake for her birthday and talked about Guy Fieri and cultural appropriation and how to show someone you love them. The cake had an oreo-dusting grave and small plastic skeleton hands, with milano cookies as tombstones. We put three 6 candles in it and sat by the rain-soaked window and sang. I felt comfortable in that small dining room in a cracking apartment, like I was being taken care of. Or that I could take care of myself. And then I sat, warm in the pool of my jacket on the train and watched a woman with ratty blond hair spend three stops getting ready for her walk home. Sitting on the floor next to my futon, wearing tights and a t-shirt and touching toes with my roommate while she watches a play for her philosophy class, I feel taken care of. Or that I can take care of myself.
We build these nature reserve corridors over highways so that animals can traverse between reserves, lessening the edge effect of smaller conservation sites. I’m not sure how much animals actually use them, or if they’re a human way of trying to ignore the issues we cause by treating animals as though they’re just like us, but there’s something to be said about a path between safe spaces.
I got published somewhere: http://voicemailpoems.org/post/132088151215/how-to-cure-her-depression-by-mo-fowler-1
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