Amy Woolard

"Manuary" has got me convinced this thing actually does have free will & is just in the initial trolling phase of our species annihilation plan.

tfw you join the war on cancer...on the side of cancer.

FSA eligibility for pet expenses would be such a game-changer for me.

"Law" is an interdisciplinary system at its core; we shld be teaching it in an interdisciplinary context (politics, sociology, comms, psych, stats, lit/art) from start to finish, esp when we're credentialing the profession like we do (its own set of issues) + clinical skills shouldnt be a side dish.

We (ACLU of Virginia) are co-counseling with National ACLU on this case—there's a lot of public harm to go around these days, but book-banning as a tactic hasn't gone anywhere either...

The govt was fighting to keep this list under seal, but we argued & won for the list to be released publicly:

The sum total of KBJ's dissents over the last few months should honestly win the Pulitzer. Though she's currently stuck in the cast of the worst Sartre play ever written, she also consistently shows how meaningful it is to have a public defender on the Court, & how devastatingly missing it's been.

actual lol

First huge yellow squash I just picked from my garden, beside my hand for scale, like twice as large as my hand.

First squash coming in from the backyard, large af, my hand for scale.

What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July? The speech shows the moral outrage that powered the abolition movement and made it so threatening to Southern slave holders, but also to anyone willing to tolerate or ignore slavery.

"We need the storm, the whirlwind, & the earthquake. The feeling of the nation must be quickened; the conscience of the nation must be roused; the propriety of the nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed; & its crimes against God & man must be proclaimed & denounced."

Thank you so much, & thank you for reading!

Shiftless (Day off that begins with James Tate & ends with Charles Wright) The wind makes a salad Of the countryside & we still refuse To learn each other's last names. You get What you pay-what-you-can-for, is all. Love Is not the thief love is still choosing to sleep In the house the night after the thief Has robbed it. Money burning A hole in my tip jar. My kiltered love Like a window AC leaking off A second-floor sill. Almost everything I can touch is an artifact I will have wanted To've preserved as proof it all happened Just this way. Sweet family meal—wave Me down, however many seconds It takes, the quiet *Mississippi* between Them. Definition of prayer: let the perfect be The memory of the good. If all you Have is scissors, everything looks like It's hanging by a thread. Our days, these Peonies are so brief & bound as fists. When everyone shuts it down is when We clock in. *All explorers must die of heartbreak.*

Brunch Shift We burn in daylight but we love the dogs until they Become stardust again. Like all dogs do, they love us Better. Small trash in our front yards as we leave, soft pack Wrapper, drugstore receipt. Like stardust our life is penciled In, imagines itself forward only as a name a day On a schedule. Noon is the loneliest number sing The sparrow & I've got my bloodshot eye on him. Jolt On the timecard like setting a fractured bone. Sweetheart, Praise the checkered kitchen floor, still sticking To its late-night story. Marry the ketchups & loosen The tin caps on all the salts. How many hungry girls Until the mourning dove tries to make the last train Home. The math of what to leave us: move the decimal To the left & then double it. Then swallow it. Then cough It up until it's not the cup that's bottomless. The filter Is what keeps my mouth & two fingers from turning To ash right along w/the cig when I inhale. Too many Of us will measure out our hours here In smoke. I swear it'll be funnier when it happens If you think I've been joking. I was above all Waiting for your fondness, the softest punch Of light like pushing a pill through its foil packet.

I've got two new poems in an absolute banger of a double issue of July/August POETRY, along w/luminaries like Kevin Young, Danez Smith, Carey Salerno, Joanna Klink, & a folio from Wang Ping of Chinese poets following the Yellow & Yangtze Rivers from their headwaters. Full issue here:

funny (not funny) how "agonizing" votes on a terrible bill count just the same in the Yes column as affirmative, full-throated supportive ones do

Issue here: www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazi...

The link would help. Full issue of July/August POETRY mag here: www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazi...

Shiftless (Day off that begins with James Tate & ends with Charles Wright) The wind makes a salad Of the countryside & we still refuse To learn each other's last names. You get What you pay-what-you-can-for, is all. Love Is not the thief love is still choosing to sleep In the house the night after the thief Has robbed it. Money burning A hole in my tip jar. My kiltered love Like a window AC leaking off A second-floor sill. Almost everything I can touch is an artifact I will have wanted To've preserved as proof it all happened Just this way. Sweet family meal—wave Me down, however many seconds It takes, the quiet *Mississippi* between Them. Definition of prayer: let the perfect be The memory of the good. If all you Have is scissors, everything looks like It's hanging by a thread. Our days, these Peonies are so brief & bound as fists. When everyone shuts it down is when We clock in. *All explorers must die of heartbreak.*

Brunch Shift We burn in daylight but we love the dogs until they Become stardust again. Like all dogs do, they love us Better. Small trash in our front yards as we leave, soft pack Wrapper, drugstore receipt. Like stardust our life is penciled In, imagines itself forward only as a name a day On a schedule. Noon is the loneliest number sing The sparrow & I've got my bloodshot eye on him. Jolt On the timecard like setting a fractured bone. Sweetheart, Praise the checkered kitchen floor, still sticking To its late-night story. Marry the ketchups & loosen The tin caps on all the salts. How many hungry girls Until the mourning dove tries to make the last train Home. The math of what to leave us: move the decimal To the left & then double it. Then swallow it. Then cough It up until it's not the cup that's bottomless. The filter Is what keeps my mouth & two fingers from turning To ash right along w/the cig when I inhale. Too many Of us will measure out our hours here In smoke. I swear it'll be funnier when it happens If you think I've been joking. I was above all Waiting for your fondness, the softest punch Of light like pushing a pill through its foil packet.

I've got two new poems in an absolute banger of a double issue of July/August POETRY, along w/luminaries like Kevin Young, Danez Smith, Carey Salerno, Joanna Klink, & a folio from Wang Ping of Chinese poets following the Yellow & Yangtze Rivers from their headwaters. Full issue here:

None of all this changes until we stop placing all our hopes & dreams into single individual "hero" figures & learn from organizers what they well know & have mastered: that collective action is the way & systems change is the goal.

can we pls get a Legend of Zelda zojirushi that plays the botw/totk cooking jingle when your food is ready / I would pay $$$

can we pls get a Legend of Zelda zojirushi that plays the botw/totk cooking jingle when your food is ready / I would pay $$$

This is so grim.

He's running.

We're currently urging the government to issue guidance on how they'll comply with the court order that trans and intersex people must receive accurate passports.

We urge you to hold off on seeking to obtain a new passport for now. We'll provide more guidance as soon as possible.

The post just got optioned by David Simon for HBO.

part of the reason people don't want the history of this period taught or understood is to make this illegible to people. it's easy to swallow thought ending cliches about which venerated figure was a "man of their times" if you remain studiously unaware of what their times actually were

What U.S. v. Skrmetti Did, What It Didn’t Do, and What It Can Never Do There is going to be a lot of catastrophizing today. We lost U.S. v. Skrmetti, one of the biggest transgender civil rights cases of our…

"If we only fight because we think we’ll win, we aren’t going to last as long as we’re needed."

I appreciated so much a work colleague sharing this today.

What U.S. v. Skrmetti Did, What It Didn’t Do, and What It Can Never Do There is going to be a lot of catastrophizing today. We lost U.S. v. Skrmetti, one of the biggest transgender civil rights cases of our…

"If we only fight because we think we’ll win, we aren’t going to last as long as we’re needed."

I appreciated so much a work colleague sharing this today.

You Want To Hold Everything In Place, But you can't hold it all. You can't keep time from crumbling, or everyone alive just by holding your breath. You can't stop sleep from covering the faces of your friends. Cheap motels, blood in the sink, nail clippings and hair dye— you can't hold it all. You can't keep the continents from shifting, or the deep wells of memory from going dry. Hold your breath. You can't stop sleep from erasing another day. The cold sweep of moonlight. Photographs. Your lover's thigh. You can't hold it all. You can't keep your hair from the drainpipe, or the beep of the alarm clock from telling another lie. Holding your breath can't stop sleep from burying this year and the next beneath a heap of fresh earth. These sparrows. This white sky. You can't hold it all. You can't keep holding your breath, but can't stop until you sleep. Matthew Olzmann

I taught this beautiful Matthew Olzmann poem "You Want To Hold Everything In Place, But" in the workshops I did during acute summer 2020 protest + pandemic years as the first thing we read, I hoped as a kind of pressure valve release. I've been sending it around a lot again lately.

You Want To Hold Everything In Place, But you can't hold it all. You can't keep time from crumbling, or everyone alive just by holding your breath. You can't stop sleep from covering the faces of your friends. Cheap motels, blood in the sink, nail clippings and hair dye— you can't hold it all. You can't keep the continents from shifting, or the deep wells of memory from going dry. Hold your breath. You can't stop sleep from erasing another day. The cold sweep of moonlight. Photographs. Your lover's thigh. You can't hold it all. You can't keep your hair from the drainpipe, or the beep of the alarm clock from telling another lie. Holding your breath can't stop sleep from burying this year and the next beneath a heap of fresh earth. These sparrows. This white sky. You can't hold it all. You can't keep holding your breath, but can't stop until you sleep. Matthew Olzmann

I taught this beautiful Matthew Olzmann poem "You Want To Hold Everything In Place, But" in the workshops I did during acute summer 2020 protest + pandemic years as the first thing we read, I hoped as a kind of pressure valve release. I've been sending it around a lot again lately.

love you, miss you! 💜

I can't say enough times how important this state/local electoral reporting is from @taniel.bsky.social & @boltsmag.org (& Daniel's been doing it for years now). These are the offices that are truly poised not to just defend against current federal harm, but actually make real affirmative progress.

Poet friends: if you were ever a student of the poet Charles Wright, will you let me know via DM or reply here?

DON'T WORRY, he's fine, I'm just working on something & want as many former students of his as I can.

+ I know he will never see this post but still, shhhhh—don't tell him/keep it low.