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Karin Hedetniemi

@karinhedet.bsky.social

Writer, wanderer. Finding quiet beauty in life✨Creative nonfiction, photography, poetry and haiku • Just being human here.🇨🇦 agoldenhour.com

783 Posts1080 Follower978 Folgt
Karin Hedetniemi@karinhedet.bsky.social · 2mo ago

I’ve been away, soaking up the late summer light, falling in love with the Maritimes. But I am home now, ready for autumn, ready for my small apple harvest. Ready to be comfortably home, thinking about where I’ve been and how it changed me.

A rainbow falls into the sea off the rocky shores of Cape Breton Highlands National Park. Photo by Karin Hedetniemi.
Karin Hedetniemi@karinhedet.bsky.social · 4mo ago

Once, many years ago, I was on a night flight over the Atlantic, and in that sleepless space between here and there, I watched this beautiful film. It has been a friend ever since. Thank you for the music, Glen Hansard.

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Toby Miller@tobytram.bsky.social · 4mo ago

I’ve been standing stock still in this wood for about 10 minutes while I mess about with a photo on my phone. I look up, notice the shape, and slowly crouch down to film This has made me so happy I feel I could cry. It’s as close to magic as I hope to get.

Karin Hedetniemi@karinhedet.bsky.social · 4mo ago

Today it’s been 10 years since my husband Jim left this world, and I was given an unexpected new one to shape. I went for a beach walk, as I did that day, to see what the tide has brought in, or swept away…and to let the waves wash fully over my feet.

A small sea-tumbled agate perched between wet stones on the pebble beach.
Karin Hedetniemi@karinhedet.bsky.social · 4mo ago

“my body is the space across which my entire life has unfolded…” 🌌 This poem is still moving through me, in its rain, smoke, unfolding hereafter.

Susan L. Leary@susanlleary.bsky.social · 4mo ago

🚨Dream journal moment!🚨Beyond excited to have a poem in the new issue of North American Review alongside some absolutely rockstar poets and writers! Here’s to poetry, a little imagination, and the bizarre interplay of loss, lineage, and memory. @northamerreview.bsky.social

Glass Desk in the Hereafter I made from my body a glass desk & from the glass desk, I made a wooden chair with mauve fabric. To my right, my brother's prayer card resting against a framed black & white photograph of a dead dog. At my feet, another dog in her little brown bed breathing heavier than she probably should. I sit more figuratively than I do literally. I am sitting inside the paper doll-ness of my own girlhood. I am sitting inside my mother & inside her mother & inside their teeth which are wider than their smiles. I am sitting inside my father & inside my brother & when forced to move, I am walking inside the bones of a boy who died like a cliché in the bathroom. I am walking down the hall & into the kitchen, into the microwave & into the coffee cup. & because my body is the space across which my entire life has unfolded, 1 am a thousand ghosts that obscure my face in the mirror. I am rain in the hair, your tiny yellow rabbit, wildflowers at the side of the road. Sometimes, I am a knife cutting through sky. Sometimes, I am carrying around the ball & chain of my own lousy architecture. Sometimes, my body grows a separate body. I am the stray dog running loose on the interstate as well as God directing the oncoming traffic. Meaning, I am dodging my own death while egging it on. Meaning, I am in the driver's seat, listening to Celine Dion & my brother is behind the wheel of every pick-up. He is at the red light & the green light. He is parked at Dunkin' Donuts & just outside DeVito's coin laundry. Mostly, he is beside me with the windows down, smelling of smoke. & because I am all body, I am breathing into the atmosphere & I am the atmosphere breathing. I am the glass desk & the mauve chair & the brown bed & perhaps even the little white dog. & because the vast space of my body never changes, the poem is changing all the time.