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Hannah Dela Cruz Abrams

@hannahabrams.bsky.social

299 followers 102 following 12 posts

Whiting, Rona Jaffe, NCAC Fellow. Work in Orion, Oxford American, Southern Humanities, StoryQuarterly, MayDay, The Pinch, and elsewhere.

Posts Replies Media

Hannah Dela Cruz Abrams @hannahabrams.bsky.social · 15/10/2023

Glück: Are the two minutes over? This interview with Louise Glück is so perfect (that I’m papering every platform w it).

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Hannah Dela Cruz Abrams @hannahabrams.bsky.social · 13/10/2023

This one is special. Thank you to Craig Santos Perez and the editors for doing beautiful, saving work—and for including me in it.

Image is of an article describing a new CHamoru anthology.

Image is of a letter of acceptance into anthology.

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Hannah Dela Cruz Abrams @hannahabrams.bsky.social · 14/09/2023

Good morning from here.

Sunrise over the dunes in North Carolina.

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Hannah Dela Cruz Abrams @hannahabrams.bsky.social · 07/09/2023

When your Instacart shopper has made more progress on a memoir than you have.

Screen shot of Instacart shopper bio describing background and ambitions.

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Hannah Dela Cruz Abrams @hannahabrams.bsky.social · 06/09/2023

Merwin in a stolen moment between first classes today, because is it just me or is time at a gallop: Going too fast for myself I missed more than I think I can remember almost everything it seems sometimes -WS Merwin, 'Turning'

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Hannah Dela Cruz Abrams @hannahabrams.bsky.social · 04/09/2023

All writers--all beings--are exiles as a matter of course. The certainty about living is that it is a succession of expulsions of whatever carries the life force... All writers are exiles wherever they live and their work is a lifelong journey towards the lost land. —Janet Frame

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Hannah Dela Cruz Abrams @hannahabrams.bsky.social · 02/09/2023

Even this late it happens: the coming of love, the coming of light. You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves, stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows, sending up warm bouquets of air. Even this late the bones of the body shine and tomorrow's dust flares into breath. —Mark Strand

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