Erin Strybis

Small graces on a fall morning

Sunlight slices through the night, washing the world in color.

Why I write

Why do cicadas hum? / Why do chickadees whistle? / Why do coyotes cock their heads and howl
/ in the vast darkness?

Some thoughts on light

At the start of 2021, I chose “light” as my word of the year. 2020 had been a heavy year for our family. I needed a word that evoked levity, joy, hope.

She used to race, Nikes flashing across worn asphalt, Lakefront wind slicing against her, heart pounding, flying free. She swam, limbs threading Lake Michigan’s rough, cool waters, gulping air, rocketing herself forward, weightless. Back then, she measured her worth with numbers: pounds, pace, calories. Afraid of everything and nothing. She once saved two men fromContinue reading “My body, a wonder”

Ode to light-catchers

Call it foolish, call it futile, /
say flamboyant if you dare. /
As for me, I’ll call it radiance,

God only knows (a sonnet)

Where can we get a baby? / my son asks, his blue eyes piercing / in the morning’s heel.

Eyes for Easter

One of my favorite Bible stories is that of Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb. Her grief still fresh and sharp, she believes a visit to Jesus’ burial site promises a private space to mourn. But when Mary arrives, the stone has been rolled away. The perfume still lingers, but the grave is empty, saveContinue reading “Eyes for Easter”

Advice to myself at the close of a pandemic

Be gentle with yourself. // Listen closely to your heart …

At home together (a tiny love story)

The first notable thing about Jay was his hair: shockingly blonde and spiky. The second: He was late to class on day one, strolling in during introductions. The only open seat was next to me, so he took it. His very presence shifted the air from stale to charged.