For queer writers, the discovery of this literary lineage is essential to our very existence, to our very expression of self. We can’t find the words without them.
How do I raise a child to love a world that may be dying, to live with compassion in the midst of what could very well be despair?
Even before death takes a loved one, marking us with deep knowledge, we partake of death every day.
A few years ago, the UK’s oldest tree, a Yew that had spent thousands of years in the appearance of maleness, began to grow female berries.