Flawed solutions are sometimes prayers. Catherine Barnett I walk into the new space, all yellow a bit mustard, a bit easter, a bit rainbow the frosted glass glows despite the hesitant sun hiding behind clouds one word, is all I ask when the teacher invites us to make an intention, mine a question, give me one word something to sink my teeth into an answer to a question I can’t quite form the teacher has a velvety voice soft she smiles and I believe her she tou

Latin for, it is solved by walking There’s a labyrinth near Balboa Park, my mom says. Amother memory, familiar space—the places I spent time as a child. Another landing strip, I need feel the earth beneath my feet. Before I fly home. When are you going home? I avoid the question, instead say, I went to a labyrinth once in France. I think it was Chartres. Built into the nave. She asks what a nave is and I say, it’s the largest part of the church, comes from the Latin word fo

It’s just after 6am when we arrive, my mother points north that way to fortuna it’s a tough one, she warns but I’m tired of flat terrain staying safe, I’m weary of carrying the fear of hills and slippery rocks, I can no longer bear the weight of my secret so old I don’t know when it began its descent deep. maybe when I was four where do you feel it? my friend asked the other day everywhere it’s sneaky that way, it knows it must stay silent or else it all unrav

is it safe I ask before I begin my stroll, I grew up here, but never came here, even the name of the neighborhood is new my heart races you didn’t have anxiety as a child my mother says really? I don’t remember I remember holding my breath it’s safe she says so I go north I am greeted by smiling stroller walkers and pink and blue houses with rainbow flags and butterflies they say the indigenous plants bring the indigenous butterflies and rebuild the ecosys