The Pulitzer Prize-winning author talks to Gulf Coast about trees, the transformative power of storytelling, and how writers might respond—and stay responsive to—the unique demands of this moment in both human- and tree-time.
It’s still a question of how queer exhibitions can function within certain institutions without assimilating, without petrifying living works in order to propose additions to “the” hegemonic canon, but Tag proposes ways forward that walk indeterminacy with confidence.
Slower & slower & then, for one/
Whole month, it spun so fast/
It was impossible to be jealous/
Or afraid or lost. Pants flew/
Off of strangers. Lapdogs floated/
Away, zigzagging across/
The sky like balloons.
Touch them, the tesserae, the shards of floating
glass, which skim the rain-full gutter. Not dead:
us/them—mere stutters, gluttons for new skin. Life,
peel back your veil. Now, see? See it again: To be dead
another time is a deciduous explosion.