Behind the Name
As mentioned on our home page, our name comes from a poem called Perihelion: A History of Touch, written by queer, Korean-American poet, Franny Choi.
A powerful prose-like poem, split into twelve parts, each named after a moon from the Farmer's Almanac (more information on that can be found by listening to the short podcast linked here), we chose the third segment for inspiration, Worm Moon, which you can find here.
To take it apart: The first sentence in this section relates to a type of identity crisis, as there are so many different parts of ourselves that it is hard to see how we are one complete person. When Choi buries herself "all over the garden" to separate those pieces and see what grows, different things come up all with the same name. To relate this to myself: Cuban, American, white, queer, female. All going by Amelia, all dressed like Amelia.
“Chewing dirt to avoid each others’ eyes” is the line that we have named the journal after. This line can be interpreted a few ways.
One, the extreme discomfort one would endure to avoid confrontation with identity and self reflection.
Two, the metaphorical consumption of one’s place of growth (whether it be a physical place or a place in time) as a means to hold onto a feeling of stability.
Or three, which is a little far fetched and yet too obvious in my mind, but still understandable, one’s tendency to either ramble or say nothing in strange or new situations, thus, the feeling of chewing on dirt, whether that dirt consist of silence or words with little to no meaning.
Reading on in this excerpt, let’s focus on another two lines: “Her tears fell straight into my eyes. What a lesson— to watch them float back and forth between us until we knew each one’s shape. Until we knew, finally, what to do with them.”
There is a level of intimacy here that, in my own opinion, is not reached previously in this poem and is not reached again. The connection through tears that Choi describes in this fragment is one that I feel is universal. There is a moment in all of our lives in which we cry with only ourselves. For me, the moment is always (yes, I admit to it being recurrent) one of intense personal reflection, and often a step towards growth, thus "we knew, finally, what to do with them".
The meaning behind the name of our journal runs deep. It is layered and loose, and like with nearly everything we discuss here, open to interpretation. I hope you all take your time with growth. Be gentle with yourselves. Tend to your gardens.
-Amelia
A powerful prose-like poem, split into twelve parts, each named after a moon from the Farmer's Almanac (more information on that can be found by listening to the short podcast linked here), we chose the third segment for inspiration, Worm Moon, which you can find here.
To take it apart: The first sentence in this section relates to a type of identity crisis, as there are so many different parts of ourselves that it is hard to see how we are one complete person. When Choi buries herself "all over the garden" to separate those pieces and see what grows, different things come up all with the same name. To relate this to myself: Cuban, American, white, queer, female. All going by Amelia, all dressed like Amelia.
“Chewing dirt to avoid each others’ eyes” is the line that we have named the journal after. This line can be interpreted a few ways.
One, the extreme discomfort one would endure to avoid confrontation with identity and self reflection.
Two, the metaphorical consumption of one’s place of growth (whether it be a physical place or a place in time) as a means to hold onto a feeling of stability.
Or three, which is a little far fetched and yet too obvious in my mind, but still understandable, one’s tendency to either ramble or say nothing in strange or new situations, thus, the feeling of chewing on dirt, whether that dirt consist of silence or words with little to no meaning.
Reading on in this excerpt, let’s focus on another two lines: “Her tears fell straight into my eyes. What a lesson— to watch them float back and forth between us until we knew each one’s shape. Until we knew, finally, what to do with them.”
There is a level of intimacy here that, in my own opinion, is not reached previously in this poem and is not reached again. The connection through tears that Choi describes in this fragment is one that I feel is universal. There is a moment in all of our lives in which we cry with only ourselves. For me, the moment is always (yes, I admit to it being recurrent) one of intense personal reflection, and often a step towards growth, thus "we knew, finally, what to do with them".
The meaning behind the name of our journal runs deep. It is layered and loose, and like with nearly everything we discuss here, open to interpretation. I hope you all take your time with growth. Be gentle with yourselves. Tend to your gardens.
-Amelia