HeyJaredLife at the Bottom of the Canyon
Thoughts, free-writes, a poem or two, an essay here and there, upcoming book chapter previews. Live, from my little adobe at the bottom of the canyon.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 9
- Latest publication
- Sep 26, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 11, 2026
Latest issues
Leave (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedMy mom’s birthday was this week. I miss her. Even after all this time, grief persists with a wilding, tendersharp ache I can’t live without. Just like love to be like that, ain’t it.<a class="image-link image2 is-viewable-img" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!GeT-!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimag
Boxes of Light (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published My friend called yesterday all loose ends and frayed nerves, her voice, a moth eaten sweater. She had so much to say but the words kept sticking in her throat, finally emerging thick and stringy from days of stretching across the cords of a new sadness. A friend had called her earlier that morning with bones of their own stuck crossways in the windpipe. It wasn’t my friend's grief to bear, but how can you not? How can you k
The Red Wheelbarrow (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="660.2923076923076" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!suCP!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F79b26786-9991-4382-8673-fd37f37d4c
This Part of Summer (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="697.2135989010989" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!8kVl!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F3fd46e28-8fb4-4ca5-8489-2b48968235
Beyond Recall (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedBeyond Recall ~after Rilke’s Go to the Limits of Your Longing I’ve gone to the limits of my longing. If I say nothing else about this year, I can say that. Ran barefoot on the tin-edge of vulnerability, heart racing and alive. Looked politely away when love, its shoulders low and unable to sustain the weight of me, slunk out in a whimper of goodbye. When they said you dodged a bullet I mus
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