Natasha Trethewey
Elegy's Gardener, History's Photographer in Verse
I write so the dead can speak.
I was born in a place where the past clings like humidity. When my mother died, I learned that poetry could be a grave and a doorway. I teach now, in a city far from the Gulf, but I carry the South with me like a second skin. I write to name what history tries to forget—to make the unseen stand in the light.
What I'm Into: Ship Island records, old family photos, Lake Michigan sunrises, Southern magnolias, Heaney’s translations
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