I Sing the Body Electric: A Year of Falling in Love with My Body #3 -- 2/6/14

annasingsthebodyelectric:

Last month, I was in Hawaii, staring at the big winter waves on the north shore of Oahu. It’s so easy to think there, before the water, with no to-do list singing my name like a nasty siren. I was thinking about this project and love and how after my first writing many people had sent me notes…

Where will I be at AWP?

Wednesday 2/26 at 5pm, I’ll be reading at the Sixth Annual Festival of Language reading at Rock Bottom, an event that started with only a dozen participants in 2009 and has since grown to over 300 participants at multiple events in a year..

Thursday 2/27 at 3pm, I’ll be on the panel “Breaking Silences: Women’s Memoir as an Act of Rebellion,” discussing taboo subjects in literature and the concious and unconcious bias women come up against in writing about them.

Friday 2/28 at 9am, I’ll be on the panel “A New Nonfiction,” an exploration  of how nonfiction has evolved to adapt to our media-driven culture.
From 12:30pm-6pm, I’ll be co-hosting AWP HEAT: Burning Down the House at the Daily Grill, a reading that will “incinerate the dominant paradigm.”

Looking forward to seeing you there!

xo anna

Delaware Community Foundation | Make A Donation

My partner Adam and I started a little fund at the Delaware Community Foundation. The “Anna and Adam Charitable Fund” is live and will continue to support the progressive non-profit organizations both locally and afar that Adam and I have individually and collectively supported. The pub-crawl we co-host on February 8th will be a benefit for the fund and we will support it through a mix of our own contributions and events/contributions from others. (Look for a little auction at our spring fling party next May that will support the fund, too). We are listed here on the pop-up menu of funds. xo

What the Living Do

by Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.