Rachel Ropeik

To hold space for complexity, to resist the violence of containing and classifying what transcends familiar labels, takes patience and a certain kind of moral courage,

I squirreled away small things so that in the lean days ahead glimmers from the past might bring back the warmth. I began, reluctantly, to steal from the present to pay off debts I knew I’d incur in the future.

it was really dedicated to him, as a token of something very beautiful in me that would take no genius to figure out and that urged me to throw in an extended cadenza. Just for him.

“What’s a hare-loom tomato?” BJ peered over his shoulder. “It’s when rich people think fucked-up-looking things are more special than normal stuff.”

It made me wistful for the illusion of New York more than for its actuality, after having lived there for five years.

Sure, it’s good to be kind and giving to others, but kindness must also be balanced so that it includes ourselves. If it doesn’t, this generosity only serves a patriarchal system where women aren’t considered valuable in their own right, as full and equal participants.

It is a primitive darkness. It has always been here, after all the city lights have gone out, carrying its own time with the sun.