By the time I was in eighth grade Mrs. Forbes’ frame acquired a concave shape, a slight hunchback that we all marveled at because it reinforced our impression of her as someone who was old, strange and unwanted. But she kept on mowing, raking and shoveling as if nothing could stop her.

Eve Müller makes zines and paper cutouts. She is a relative newcomer to the world of literary non-fiction/memoir, […]

Words wash up on the shore of your brain. Less and less tied to the world where the rest of us live. It is fitting that you – a poet to the last – speak in koans.