T. Clear
T. Clear's Website
T. Clear was born the sixth of seven children, into a noisy, crowded and loving household, in a house bumped up against Pacific Northwest second-growth woodlands, open fields and orchards. Her earliest memories are of wandering among Douglas firs and alders, her legs skirted in bracken ferns, ever-wary of stinging nettles. She and her five sisters harvested hazelnuts and apples, blackberries and rhubarb, the promise of pie luring them back into the kitchen where all nine family members gathered each evening for supper. It was a gentle life and provided the landscape from which her writing has grown.
After many years working in glass art, she now works in Human Relations for Seattle Cider Company.
T. Clear reading from A House, Undone
Featuring Priscilla Long
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"Body Parts" from A House, Undone was featured on Verse Daily.
Poem from A House, Undone
Table
Not an island, not an isthmus or a spit. Not a peninsula. The kitchen table is a land mass untethered to the vinyl floor, prone to slippage if it weren’t for the lumbered-mass of it. Built waist high, meant for larger tools than a whisk, a spatula, a cooling rack. Meant for a saw, hammer, drill. Raw-edged planks, no fussy trim. Wrestled up the basement steps and put into service after a decade of disuse. Long enough to lay out a dead man on a cloth, if there was need. Or a woman. Long enough to lay out 30 pies.
