Juliet is my mother’s name, pronounced Jul-yet by her mother. July. With heat that melts you into wet slowness and surrender. Cicadas pulsing, sweat dripping down my hands. Goldfinches and hummingbirds and heavy bees feasting on my mother’s volunteer zinnias before they go to seed. How can that goldfinch even sit on such a small stem without it bowing? July. The month I was born. This year spent quietly at home in the yard with the flowers and symphony of birds and bugs and my dogs and a whiskey sweating.

July, 5:20, 2025

On view at Whitespace Gallery Atlanta, 9.6.25 - 10.18.25