Yoga makes me feel better, but it doesn't stop the heat. I practice in the shade of the mesquites. Something feels not quite right. The swamp smells of sulfur and methane. Do odors cast shadows? Screams interrupt my practice. A man at the edge of the swamp is in flames "Drop!" I yell. "Roll in … Continue reading Mrtasana
I find shelter in the library. It's not cool, but it's cooler. A woman laughs over a book on organic DYI recipes for mosquito spray. I'm not dying. People die from exposure. I am not dying, not at this moment. It's cooler in the library. I can't erase the sight of the woman--Martha Sally--lying at … Continue reading The Lightbringer
It's so hot. I water my plants twice a day. The plants aren't much--people call them "trash plants." The smell warrants the name. They produce dense black fruit that smells sulfuric but tastes surprisingly delicious--like broccoli, actually. I eat at least one a day. The fruit satisfies. I'm guessing that the high sulfur content protects … Continue reading Wet Bulb 95
When I wake, I know I must return to the valley. I don't know why--I don't even wonder why. I just know that it must be. I don't want to go. I want to stay here, where Tessa is. Where the eagles are. Where I can forget that it's the After and pretend, instead, that … Continue reading Return
I don't remember the names of most of the people I've met. I remember Veegan the Freegan's name. Maybe if everyone's names rhymed, I'd remember them. I have a hard time even remembering individuals' distinguishing characteristics. There are the blue guys. There are others. That's about it. But I remember Tessa's name. Tessa is the … Continue reading Data without Names
I can't waste energy wondering if this is a dream, or trying to wake up, or calculating which path brought me here, because I am here, and I need to figure out what I will eat. A cooler sits beside some tables in my camp. I'm not sure if I trust the food inside. The … Continue reading A Crowded Path
Hi, Stacy. I'm Cathy Tea. I found your profile on the Pen Pal Project site, and when I read that you wanted to write someone who knew that reality is beautiful, I chose you. Because reality is beautiful. My current writing project centers around that. Maybe I should say it explores it--I'm not sure if … Continue reading Author’s Letter 1: Reality is Beautiful
I am here. I am alive. I think I am well.