Waiting tables, dyeing textiles, separating goats in heat
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Paula Harris lives in New Zealand, where she sleeps in a lot, because that’s what depression makes you do. Her writing has appeared in Hobart and New Ohio Review.
At the end of our weekly sessions, as I’m about to walk out the door, I hand The Lovely Harry a manila envelope of poems I’ve written that week. Some weeks it’s a thin envelope; other weeks the pages inside push against the seams with their folded energy.