Rebecca St. Pierre is a Canadian photographer, digital composite artist, and writer. Nature is her muse and mentor. Her work has appeared in publications such as Understorey Magazine, Cloud Lake Literary, and Honeyguide Magazine. You will find more of Rebecca's work at her website, www.WordFlightAndLight.com. Artist's Note: My pieces of [...]
She was a servant of death. Her charcoal beak pulled apart corpses, freeing their souls back into the world around them. ...
In this videopoem, two humans and a tree dance, feel, see and explore together in Leadville, Colorado, a 10,000-foot-high city and Superfund site surrounded by high piles of mining waste that sit upon the water supply. This video emerged out of a crip drift, a sensing/being/in space, in a psychogeographical exploration. [...]
I hadn’t thought much of the wind today / before I pushed into the pond and found / how little, mind you, how little the wind / thought of me
Church bells pealed canonical hours / matins, lauds, praise be for sunrise / prime, terce, sext / become silent graphics
boardwalk greasy with entangled seaweed, the rickety path to my summer blossomed open towards ...
If there is enough bark left, / if its trunk lying nearby / or if you were the one to fell it / you might be able to tell a tree’s identity ...
Multitudes of hands / open and close / like sea anemones ...
It was a difficult journey with the highways in disrepair, entire sections washed away into the hillside; nothing concrete could be forever. Still, he had to go––for what was left in the calcified highlands behind him was a form of loneliness he could no longer bear.
After my first child died unexpectedly in Namibia when she was 17 days old, it took me over a year to be ready to try to conceive again. ...
