I have long loved this journal, centered on humankind’s relationship with the natural and built environment. The essays, fiction and poetry are juxtaposed with rich imagery. Sharks, monarchs, redwoods, ice, sprawl, November.
I wrote my poem about an abandoned house after walking around with a neighborhood development organization. We were identifying the properties in most critical need. I think a lot about the generation that has grown up with the bleeding, block after block of vacant houses built in the ‘30s and ‘40s, charmers, all. One of my students told me, “My mom says when she was growing up there was a family in every single house,” like it was the most remarkable thing.
This is a manmade disaster.