Mike sends a picture of graffiti in Seattle that talks about making space for joy and we joke about space for okayness. The untruthful assertion that joy is where it’s at. — @klorraine.bsky.social for day 1 bloofbooks.com/2026/04/02/i...

The session by Jill Pelto is sponsored by @umd-arhu.bsky.social 's Arts For All and is virtual, free, and open to all.

I don't frame my work, but I did go to Home Depot last weekend to get some wood so that I can hang it properly for this art fair--go on, ask me about my hanging technique.

Garden situation

I’m now one of those people posting pictures of bread. The awful, ugly bill and Epstein files have driven me back to sourdough stress baking.

Friday in the new studio space. I’m settling in.

Ok I really want the murderbot series to be good but I always pictured them as looking like an androgynous slightly femme bodybuilder.

Sometime soon someone is going to tell us we can’t say “social justice” at all, and I can’t rank my distress. I am a poet who builds webpages. I am not known for my finesse @klorraine.bsky.social #NaPoWriMo day 2! bloofbooks.com/2025/04/02/t...

I sent poems to the Paris Review but why?

I'm booking 30 tarot readings by phone or zoom for April and May! Details and information about my divination philosophy: calendly.com/klorraine-aw...

I like the dogwoods even more than the cherry blossoms.

Coco expressed an interest in us wearing matching dresses for her birthday, so I delved into the world of mother-daughter outfits, and my God, it is horrifying.

I have zero hot takes.

Most of my instagram story from yesterday disappeared—and I can’t see other people’s stories. Is anyone else experiencing anything like this?

It’s snowing in NYC. Headed back to DC today.

New poem

A messy work-from-studio day.

Why does everyone love Auden?

"No olvides nunca que los menos fascistas de entre los fascistas también son fascistas." Roque Dalton

Hello. Is it cold where you are too? I’m working on my February schedule and have some space for some more tarot readings, either via zoom or in-person in DC. DM me for details.

The walk from the car to the office. Why am I in the office on Friday?

And so on.

Well. That full moon in Cancer was a bit much.

I love this sharp winter light.

The idea that we’re doomed, however accurate, isn’t a particularly interesting proposition. We should come up with something better.

I do like these sunrises, though.

Outside my window this morning. Birds always cheer me.

Birthday of but a single pang That there are less to come— Afflictive is the Adjective But affluent the doom— Happy birthday to Emily Dickinson, who wrote one of the best birthday poems ever.

Rest in power, Nikki Giovanni. Seeing her read and speak in October at UMD was one of the great experiences of my life. This video is from a TedX talk--"Why Not the Right Thing the First Time" youtu.be/Ekpw2xzPK2Y?...

I don't know. It's Monday afternoon.

Plus by now doesn't everyone know that any identity can be codified--which is basically what's happened. Very particular ways of representing *some* historically marginalized identities in art have become mainstream intelligible and lucrative. This is what mainstream institutions tend to do.

Like, ok, the art world is having a moment where queer and decolonial theory are finally more fully integrated into the discourse. It had to happen sometime.

Slugging my way through Dean Kissick's essay in Harpers on "How politics destroyed contemporary art." This whole debate of progressive and/or identity-based content with traditional forms vs. experimental forms feels very much like perennial debates in poetryland. Thinking of the early aughts.

After seven years of running outside, I'm having an unexpected moment of liking the gym again. Rowing machine & free weights, I've missed you.

The art world is partying in Miami and I'm a little bit jealous, but mostly I'm grateful to Stable for making it remotely possible for me to maintain a studio and be in the company of so many fantastic artists.

Deep respect to the solo parents of the world. I've been on my own with the bebes for four days and I can't figure out how I'd ever exercise if this were the norm. I'd have to pay for more childcare or regularly skip out on work early. Neither of which is really feasible.

I've sent the manuscript to Fence and YesYes Books. I've sent poems to BWR & Poetry Northwest. Where else should I send? Help, before I lose all momentum!

Update: You mean there's no one else who's going to send this manuscript out for me?

There are three children making a fort in the living room and I'm looking at this manuscript. I wrote it. Now I need to send it out.

I'm making turkey for Thanksgiving for the first time in more than a decade. Obsessing about cooking is really helping me remain sane right now.

I'm spending the day reading 21 proposals for building a website and evaluating them using an absurdly detailed, tedious rubric. I might make banana bread. I might make a poem.

I also read cards. Are there any other card readers here?

I usually begin with some combination of a poem and an ink or watercolor painting, then I cut them up and weave them together. This piece contains a poem, a copy of my great grandfather's WWI draft registration, and an ink painting of a train intersection in Amarillo Texas near where he lived.

I came upon a herd of deer eating pumpkins this morning, walking from my car through the woods and across the UMD campus to my office. In other creaturely news there is a sharp-shinned hawk hanging out near Taliferro Hall.

This is The Scarlet Caterwaul Moon. 100% full.

Update: And still no one wants to fund my art project on ancestry, anti-racism and divination.

If you're in D.C. this weekend, I'll be in good company at this event on Saturday in memory of Refaat Alareer. Tickets and more details here: www.zeffy.com/en-US/ticket...

Update: It was 35 degrees this morning but the heirloom tomato plant is still going strong. Headed into a meeting I am only vaguely prepared for.

Ok I'm here. Things I liked about today: the cold, the wind, a discarded wreath, Desmond asking me to make him a website so he can "sell art."