The Mother of Beauty

"Death is the mother of beauty..."

This snippet from Wallace Steven's poem 'Sunday Morning' has lived in my brain for many years, giving words (and a figure) to a concept I'd been carrying around with me.

In the spring of 2021 I sat on my porch every morning, drinking my coffee and writing in my notes app on my phone. This poem was born during one of these porch sessions. It deals with the ephemerality of all of the little spring joys I witnessed on that morning. A good companion to this poem is my essay 'Violet Season', also available in my shop :)

A single sheet of paper folded into quarters. An anti-spring poem.

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A note on the pricing model: Sliding scale prices reflect the time, energy, and resources it takes to bring art into the world. You choose how much you are able to pay, no questions asked. Read more about it on my about page :)