#0003 – The Universe, Drugs and Motherhood

We stand in the rain on the front porch, with cars splash-passing in the dark road. My neighbor, Anthony, drinking a hard cider, doesn’t blink when I ask if he’d be willing to share the poem he’s reading with all of you folks at home. Then we play music. He, the woman he loves, and I. He strums six strings, she runs fingers along the black and white keys, and I snap a beat with taps and slaps. Their voices, together, bounce through melodies, as they look at one another with a tenderness that pushes the rest of everything outside the room.

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#0002 – Paris, Poetry, and Protest Featuring Louisa Drury

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, I sat down with poet, teacher, and friend Louisa Drury at her kitchen table in the small town of Stowe, Vermont, where she was kind enough to share a bit about her time in Paris during a period I — and so many artists I know — have lived in romantic envy of for our entire lives. Gifting us a reading of some of her work, Louisa is a living reminder that art itself is a form of protest.

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Photo by: Bronwyn Fryer

#0001 – Prologue Feat. Mike The Guitar

From a spring sunset we begin by stretching back through the past winter to what brought us here…

We start with a poem called “Sounds of Home,” then head to Ireland — once for adventure, and again for love — before ending up back home in the mountains of Vermont:

We’re also lucky enough to have our musical guest, Mike the Guitar, take us for a ride on a Greyhound bus bound for Reno, followed by a trip to Portland for a date at the homeless shelter.

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Photo by: Arielle Thomas (@whiskyspice)