Flycatcher: Where Nothing Dies Long

I took this photo while at Red Earth Farm, home of Janisse Ray and Raven Waters.  It's a beautiful, old crepe myrtle, dressed in  Spanish Moss.

Last night, I sat down to read the first issue of Flycatcher: A Journal of Native Imagination.  With a glass of red wine beside me, I read the issue from beginning to end, something I seldom do.  I’m the person who flips through a magazine, reading articles that catch my attention, later returning to read the leftovers.  Well, there are no leftovers in this amazing issue of Flycatcher.  I savored every word of every essay, every poem—I tasted it all. And I went back for second and third helpings of the visuals.

I urge you to read Chris Martin’s notes, A Monk and a Mountain, before moving to the rest of the magazine.  He prepares a table for a feast of creative writing, using pottery from the past, recipes from our land.  As I write this, I think of Lexical-gustatory Synesthesia, a rare form of synesthesia in which words, both written and spoken, elicit involuntary sensations of taste.  The menu includes 51 dishes.  Prepare to taste.

Some of my favorites: Relics, by David King; Deciduous, by Rosemary Royston; Feathered Moon, by Sheri Wright; Red Lanterns by Janisse Ray; Salve, by Rosemary Rhodes Royston; Seams, by Jennifer Martin; To See It, by Dan Corrie; Wake, by Peter Peteet; Bones, by Donna Steiner; On Rocks, by Rebecca Vidra;  and Christopher Martin’s notes. I have spooned through them again and again—the taste remained long after I read the last word.

I never did drink the glass of wine.

Burial Ground by me.

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