No Beast, Don’t Bend
I am a body surrendered fully to nature, captured in this house, left sitting on haunches in corners under blankets.
you are beginning to look like other people
Ananda Naima González is a writer residing in Harlem, NY. She carries a BA and an MFA from Columbia University, in poetry and fiction respectively, and is currently at work on a collection of short stories. Her work is finely tuned to the tender and brutal realities of humanity, feral and natural energies, and dreamscapes. Her mission is to honor the inherently sacred ritual of living. In addition to writing, she is also an accomplished dancer, choreographer, and filmmaker.
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More in this series
On the occasion that i die before i’m thirty,
there must be no mention of my migration or bravery; / if anyone reads poetry, let it only be an ode to green-tea donuts
Haibun on the High Bun
everything shifts as she twists and spins her hair, lifting it to chignon. / So self-assured, as if the gesture were always hers