sensitive
i like to tease my husband about his occasionally being a s.n.a.g. or a “sensitive new age guy.” on the other hand, trying to respond to the world as any kind of artist sometimes feels as if i am the female equivalent of a s.n.a.g.: a “sensitive new age gal.” some days i feel like a single heart, suspended and exposed, with my skin peeled away, and a single delicate lobe of nerve endings left hanging in the lacerating winds of daily life.

bleeding heart flower

saint paul, minnesota