Weekly Feature

On Orbits

If someone were to ask of

The return from Saturn

What would I say?

I would tell of driving through the vein of the continental divide

Every book

Every dress I possessed

inside backpacks and plastic totes

And Paul Simon singing of a land where we never fall from grace

And the crack of my heart breaking

Is loud enough to shock my lungs

 and heavy enough to steer the white Subaru to the reservoir pull out

To stare into the blue waters

Collecting cold courage

To move on

I would tell of the weeks of dirt and questions

Days in the screaming silence of Joshua tree

How my bald tires


waning bank accounts

pushed my frenzied mind to rash decisions of never returning to anywhere

How my heart whispered ‘hold on”

And my fear and ego flung forward

further west

Into a glittering sea

On Becoming

We have to learn how to live in this

How to reckon with the heaviness

How to learn to breathe underwater

on the wet lung days

How to sit with unease

and rest there

We have to water our own plants and walk the dog around the block

No one is going to do this for us

I am slowly learning that forgiveness and apathy are very different creatures

and to allow them in the same room provides no movement

I am remembering

that still waters are not clean to drink from

and neither is a still life

Learning many things that I’m told I have known before

How many lives and how may re-births?

“Let’s unpack that” , he says

But I remember that I have always pulled at clothing slowly from an open suitcase, long after arrival

No person can provide the push for another

I sit outside and and meditate upon the spotty sunlight

the goosebumps on my leg and

Andrew Bird’s violin makes the trees dance

maybe is does not matter if wind or bow moves them

and all I can know if that this is all the heaviness needed to question

and the beauty in understanding that we understand nothing

Jillian has spent the last decade traveling, working in the outdoors, writing, and composting the days into what she hopes will be something of benefit. She resides now in New Mexico where she writes and studies poetry and prose with the deeply gifted people of the high desert who have welcomed her in. She earned her grit through colleges near mountains and rivers, and her love of a vintage treasure find from the cities that bordered them. She is her best on the road, camped out under the stars, or surrounded by good people, and will forever strive to passionately protest mediocrity. She has been published in Elephant Journal, Folk Rebellion, Sivana East, and The Santa Fe Literary Review.