Jake Skeets

Nov 1, 2023 | poetryfoundation.org | Jake Skeets

the sun fails to make sense anymore an insect buzzes in overgrown red brome butterfly whistle     spark of beetle or wire rush cattle choke wide   sage in late weather a field of big grass and red sky small water amiss through words and wind and a faded scar like the one I trace on your wrist sometimes and man the day fell hours ago and you ask me to slow down something shifts in the bushes a rabbit      an eternity      a bull snake there is a meteorite in my hand a bird in yours

Aug 22, 2023 | bostonmagazine.com | Sophie Donelson |Derek Blasberg |Sarah Lewis |Jake Skeets

Boston Home Transforming the common kitchen, celebrating a century of Avedon, and Nina Farmer’s enduring interiors. Uncommon Kitchens: A Revolutionary Approach to the Most Popular Room in the House, by Sophie DonelsonThe kitchen is synonymous with the heart of a home—and for good reason. It’s where family meals are made with love and party guests congregate when we celebrate.

Jun 22, 2023 | emergencemagazine.org | Jake Skeets

Writer Jake Skeets is Black Streak Wood, born for Water’s Edge. He is Diné from Vanderwagen, New Mexico. His debut collection of poetry, Eyes Bottle Dark with a Mouthful of Flowers, was a winner of the National Poetry Series and the American Book Award. He won the 2018 Discovery/Boston Review Poetry Contest and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

Apr 17, 2023 | poets.org | Jake Skeets |Beau Sia |Julia Levine |Carolyn Forché

Snow a celestial orchard in bloom,mile after mile of pine and graniteclothed in an empire of silence. We burned newspapers, a cord of wood, a bed framethe squatters before us had left. Mornings, our boots made tracksbeside the split moons of deer, the clawed prints of bear,even as wind whittled it all away. Some afternoons, there was sunlight through the windowsand we’d lie inside our zipped-together bagsmoving like a legless shadow. Nights, we heard wolves with the sky inside their throats.