Folk By Eden Royce In a place beyond far, my braids are woven into the sweetgrass basket encasing me and I am surrounded by the scent of the ocean and its dead. A crack of light breaches my intricate prison and I shift, twist only a fraction, to take advantage of its brightness — there …

The Fall Shall Further the Flight In Me By Rachael K. Jones There are things that fly and things that fall. You must remember this distinction, because they are not the same. Devils are flying things that learn to fall. Lovers are falling things that learn to fly. Do not confuse them. Saints do not …