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my mother & I condense a lifetime together into weekly hikes — there are never enough daylight hours we seek out wild rapeseed moss-soft fennel prickly radish leaves that unfurl to fold up gently: we linger in languid afternoon light, traipse from patch to patch squat to forage in a rush all that we recognize as humble nourishment. My mother, eyes wild with huáijiù, plucks tender shoots in eager handfuls, states in a matter-of-fact tone: It is in our DNA this trauma the need to store up enough food to stave off winters men — cannot and will not ever understand what we carry inside us. In silence we walk the path, heads held high
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May 7
May 7, 2026 at 7:10 PM UTC
What We Carry
my mother & I condense a lifetime together into weekly hikes — there are never enough daylight hours we seek out wild rapeseed moss-soft fennel prickly radish leaves that unfurl to fold up gently: we linger in languid afternoon light, traipse from patch to patch squat to forage in a rush all that we recognize as humble nourishment. My mother, eyes wild with huáijiù, plucks tender shoots in eager handfuls, states in a matter-of-fact tone: It is in our DNA this trauma the need to store up enough food to stave off winters men — cannot and will not ever understand what we carry inside us. In silence we walk the path, heads held high
throwback poem I wrote for my mother
CreatingwithmyCreator
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May 7
May 7, 2026 at 7:10 PM UTC
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