when the text is not left-aligned…

…you know something must be up.

and something is up!
that something is called a guest-blogger by the name of A.M. O’Malley!!!

A.M. will be taking the helm over at the detail collector for a week! what a delight!
(i have never purposefully given up a week at the detail collector. part of me wonders if i will have the impulse to collect the details anyway and will have to hold myself back from posting.)

[this happens to overlap with my guest-blogging during the next month over at nola studiola redux hosted by thee lovely alison barker whom i met at art farm last summer.  stop over anytime.]

but back to A.M. O’Malley

i honestly don’t remember the first time i met this wonder, but i think it involved a backporch picnic and some tacos? and i think the first-time meeting didn’t matter as much as the fact that we are made from midwestern stuff and which meant that first time meeting didn’t really feel like the first time but more like an oh hey, i’ve been wondering when i might see you again kind of thing.

wait. i take that back. perhaps the first time we met was at a reading she hosted at the independent publishing resource center in portland, or where she works as a program coordinator. at this reading, she read from a zine that had pink pages and maps and shared stories of the places she grew up and what it means to grow up all over the country. she was also wearing the most fabulous hat. which wasn’t even a hat but more like a fancy broach for the hair.

things you need to know about this human:
chances are, you will find yourself laughing with her. and perhaps running a run-on joke with her for months if not years. there is no ridiculousness that is too ridiculous in her eyes.
she has bones that have broken and then healed with stories inside of them. she is breaking those bones all over again to let those stories out in poem-form. she calls the collection of these poems tiny bones.
i want to say something about nail polish or shoes. but that’s not quite it. i think it’s really her sass that i’m trying to capture here. which i can’t. so i suggest you meet her sometime, so you can delight in it yourself.


A.M. O’Malley knows that the small is just a metaphor for the large, in the same way that veins are just metaphors for the branching limbs of oak trees and ferns uncurling in the springtime are just metaphors for the milky way. She knows that everything is just a metaphor for something else, and that life follows just a few patterns, really, and she likes to discover these patterns in zines, junk, poems and the crisp warm feeling of clean sheets, fresh from the dryer, which are really just a metaphor for grandmothers, and places where there is enough sun to dry your laundry on the line. A.M. lives and writes in Portland, ORe. You can read more about her here: www.swiftsparrowswallow.com

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