Texas Creek Flowers, by Kari CvarThe Weight of Petals
We leave things behind. A stone placed on a cairn, a name carved into bark, a handful of stems offered to the current. We do this because the water does not stop. It moves with a cold, indifferent patience, carving the earth into shapes we…
The Weight of Silk
The smell of new fabric is always a little sharp, like starch and cold air trapped in a plastic bag. I remember the feeling of a scarf slipping against my collarbone—the way silk behaves when it is caught between a breeze and the skin. It…
The Weight of What Remains
Time does not move in a straight line. It circles back, settling into the hollows of stone and the curves of dried fruit. We build walls to keep the world out, yet the world eventually finds its way through the cracks, reclaiming the mortar…