Memoir Excerpts

Have yet to fig­ure out the descent from these moun­tains I have climbed. Two but­ter­flies, burnt orange in shade, dance fran­ti­cally around me, only an inch away from each other. Bells in the dis­tance, buoys nav­i­gate the way, and the fog horn blows on this clear sun-filled day. There are no whales to be seen down below. No seals doing som­er­saults. No deer hop­ping their way through the golden sum­mer bushes. I turn off my music so that I may hear the moun­tain lion prey­ing on me for her morn­ing feast. I fig­ure if she eats me, it was meant to be my day. Beneath my breasts is now a belly which is softer than it was—a cap­sule recy­cling souls who have been here before. The power of this womb. What mean­ing lies ahead for...