Kathryn Napier Stull

Main menu Published on July 16, 2026 I dig for medicine ink blind in the dirt, no news past the next elbow of night, scooped hands carving a husk for incomplete skin. I’ve bent there rooting under daylight’s million feet, breath rebounding from the mudpack in a second heat, every corridor a vein map drawn to build out the body, tap a witnessing pulse and beg this clay tell me my shape, let me know and be known by a lower mother that broods me into form and finish me that I may recognize my earth.