Amy Woolard
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a-woo.bsky.social
Amy Woolard
@a-woo.bsky.social
3.7K followers 1.1K following 470 posts
Attorney & Chief Program Officer (Legal, Policy, Organizing) at @ACLU of Virginia. Poet—NECK OF THE WOODS, Alice James Books. Teaching Law & Lit—UVA Law. Legal aid alum. Former bartender. she/her.
Words here = mine alone.
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a-woo.bsky.social
Before I got to UVA & took Greg's workshop my first year, I honestly believed no one was actually still writing poems/books anymore—all poets were long dead.

This was the poem that first made me realize you could do anything in a poem. This poem was a golden ticket for me, doing so much so simply.
Love poem Gregory Orr 1947- A black biplane crashes through the window / of the luncheonette. The pilot climbs down, / removing his leather hood. / He hands me my grandmother's jade ring. / No, it is two robin's eggs and / a telephone number: yours.
November 23, 2025 at 8:17 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
this might be the first meme I've ever made, is how tonight is going for me so far
venn diagram of "strawberry waterloo seltzer" & "me online on election night in Virginia" each overlapping with "endlessly refreshing"
November 5, 2025 at 12:27 AM
a-woo.bsky.social
Eli, 15-year-old King of the (backyard) jungle.
Eli, the 15-year-old brindle husky/mastiff mix stands in my leafy fall backyard wearing a brown fluffy lion’s mane snood & his help-me-up harness (he has mobility issues at this age).
October 27, 2025 at 3:37 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
"Poppies in October"

HBD, Sylvia Plath, botd 1932.

She wins GOAT poet just for the word "flamily" here.
Poppies in October Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly— A gift, a love gift Utterly unasked for By a sky Palely and flamily Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes Dulled to a halt under bowlers. O my God, what am I That these late mouths should cry open in a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers. Sylvia Plath, born 10/27/32
October 27, 2025 at 2:28 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
Found a baby rhino in my house this morning.

(Not vicious, just yawning)
Selma the grey/white whippet wearing a knit rhino snood for Halloween that gives her little head spikes. Her mouth is open & she’s bearing her teeth like she’s roaring but really she’s just mid-yawn.
October 26, 2025 at 3:14 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
Selma the Whippet just got a new fall sweater.
Selma, a small grey & white whippet, wearing a black turtleneck sweater while lying elegantly on a white plush armchair.
October 25, 2025 at 5:47 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
Selma timeline cleanse / at least one of us is ready for winter
Selma, the grey & white whippet, sits in a cream colored armchair with a grey jumpsuit on and a red and grey striped knit winter hat with a pompom on it. She looks like the dog from The Grinch Who Stole Xmas.
October 21, 2025 at 5:41 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
My local pharmacy (Virginia) isn't offering them at all, CVS says they don't have them/unavailable & here's what Walgreens says:
screenshot of a pop-up on the walgreens pharmacy site that says "Prescription required before appointment: The following vaccines require a prescription in the patient's state. Please contact the patient's healthcare provider to obtain the prescription(s) prior to their vaccine appointment. * COVID-19
August 28, 2025 at 5:45 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
when a dog has a big stretch you always have to say “Big Stretch!” or it didn’t happen
Selma, the white & grey whippet, is facing the camera & has her front paws way forward in front of her having a big stretch. The Wolf, a brindle husky, lounges behind her
August 27, 2025 at 8:18 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
If a dog is lying on top of you, you can’t get up until they do / I don’t make the rules
Lady Selma the Whippet, lying on the grey blanket that's covering my legs & feet on a dark grey couch. She's brindle & white & made of magic.
August 20, 2025 at 10:49 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
Please meet Selma the Whippet, latest addition to our fam—w/all gratitude to The Sato Project—fresh off the plane from Puerto Rico & now a Virginian, bless her heart.

She's named after my Great Aunt Selma, a similarly elegant presence in her day. TSP called her Lady, so formal name: Lady Selma.
Selma, the most elegant whippet you've ever known, white & grey-brindle, lying luxuriously on a grey rectangular dog bed with a black border. She's looking into your soul & she sees you.
August 19, 2025 at 11:30 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
First squash coming in from the backyard, large af, my hand for scale.
First huge yellow squash I just picked from my garden, beside my hand for scale, like twice as large as my hand.
July 5, 2025 at 11:54 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
I've got two new poems in an absolute banger of a double issue of July/August POETRY, along w/luminaries like Kevin Young, Danez Smith, Carey Salerno, Joanna Klink, & a folio from Wang Ping of Chinese poets following the Yellow & Yangtze Rivers from their headwaters. Full issue here:
Shiftless (Day off that begins with James Tate & ends with Charles Wright) The wind makes a salad Of the countryside & we still refuse To learn each other's last names. You get What you pay-what-you-can-for, is all. Love Is not the thief love is still choosing to sleep In the house the night after the thief Has robbed it. Money burning A hole in my tip jar. My kiltered love Like a window AC leaking off A second-floor sill. Almost everything I can touch is an artifact I will have wanted To've preserved as proof it all happened Just this way. Sweet family meal—wave Me down, however many seconds It takes, the quiet *Mississippi* between Them. Definition of prayer: let the perfect be The memory of the good. If all you Have is scissors, everything looks like It's hanging by a thread. Our days, these Peonies are so brief & bound as fists. When everyone shuts it down is when We clock in. *All explorers must die of heartbreak.* Brunch Shift We burn in daylight but we love the dogs until they Become stardust again. Like all dogs do, they love us Better. Small trash in our front yards as we leave, soft pack Wrapper, drugstore receipt. Like stardust our life is penciled In, imagines itself forward only as a name a day On a schedule. Noon is the loneliest number sing The sparrow & I've got my bloodshot eye on him. Jolt On the timecard like setting a fractured bone. Sweetheart, Praise the checkered kitchen floor, still sticking To its late-night story. Marry the ketchups & loosen The tin caps on all the salts. How many hungry girls Until the mourning dove tries to make the last train Home. The math of what to leave us: move the decimal To the left & then double it. Then swallow it. Then cough It up until it's not the cup that's bottomless. The filter Is what keeps my mouth & two fingers from turning To ash right along w/the cig when I inhale. Too many Of us will measure out our hours here In smoke. I swear it'll be funnier when it happens If you think I've been joking. I was above all Waiting for your fondness, the softest punch Of light like pushing a pill through its foil packet.
July 1, 2025 at 5:48 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
I taught this beautiful Matthew Olzmann poem "You Want To Hold Everything In Place, But" in the workshops I did during acute summer 2020 protest + pandemic years as the first thing we read, I hoped as a kind of pressure valve release. I've been sending it around a lot again lately.
You Want To Hold Everything In Place, But you can't hold it all. You can't keep time from crumbling, or everyone alive just by holding your breath. You can't stop sleep from covering the faces of your friends. Cheap motels, blood in the sink, nail clippings and hair dye— you can't hold it all. You can't keep the continents from shifting, or the deep wells of memory from going dry. Hold your breath. You can't stop sleep from erasing another day. The cold sweep of moonlight. Photographs. Your lover's thigh. You can't hold it all. You can't keep your hair from the drainpipe, or the beep of the alarm clock from telling another lie. Holding your breath can't stop sleep from burying this year and the next beneath a heap of fresh earth. These sparrows. This white sky. You can't hold it all. You can't keep holding your breath, but can't stop until you sleep. Matthew Olzmann
June 13, 2025 at 11:56 AM
a-woo.bsky.social
post yr favorite one-word movie
French movie poster of Krysztof Kieslowski's film "Bleu" (Blue, in the U.S.). Juliette Binoche set against blue water. The movie is part of Kieslowski's Trois Couleurs trilogy, along with Red and White (also great movies).
May 5, 2025 at 1:23 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
if you see this
post your getaway vehicle
Lowly Worm driving his red apple car.
May 3, 2025 at 2:16 AM
a-woo.bsky.social
Today, of course, is already an important anniversary of a huge global loss. 9 years.

They stand in the way of love & we will smoke them all.
Black & white photo of Prince, sporting an afro, bell bottoms & heels, turning over his left shoulder to smile at the camera & give the finger.
April 21, 2025 at 3:20 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
I prob post this every year around this time, but it remains the case the best Easter poem ever written is this James Tate fire:
Goodtime Jesus Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He hd been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it? A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled back, skin falling off. But he wasn't afraid of that. It was a beautiful day. How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do. Take a little ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody. --James Tate
April 20, 2025 at 6:07 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
I think I coveted this from @vitriol.bsky.social sharing theirs on social a while back, but so excited to receive this ultimate Southern mug from Liz Kelly Pottery today, my new personal power object.
Cream-colored clay coffee mug handmade by Liz Kelly with a picture of a possum face with an open mouth inside a dark red heart. Around the heart are the words "Bless Your Heart"
April 12, 2025 at 2:00 AM
a-woo.bsky.social
t's far from ever lost on me my book's birthday (5 years today!) each year falls one day after the anniversary of Rebecca's death. Today & always I'm so grateful for her & this life & the writers & editors who continue to believe in my work, & also the opportunity each day to try to find the words.
Rebecca, with chin-length curly black hair, holding a cigarette upright in her right hand, looking directly at the camera. She's wearing a pink & black silk shift dress. Dedication page of my book, NECK OF THE WOODS, which reads "for Rebecca & me" Stack of abt 16 copies of my book, NECK OF THE WOODS, on a light blue table w/their spines facing the camera. This was from my unboxing photo when I received my first copies in 2020.
April 7, 2025 at 12:32 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
you left out the punchline, though.
Press release from Va. Gov. Glenn Youngkin announcing his intent to replace Bert Ellis on the UVA Board of Visitors with Ken Cuccinelli.
March 27, 2025 at 1:39 AM
a-woo.bsky.social
It's tough enough for them as it is, but also you can read in Katie's most recent post how Trump's gutting of the VA & stop-payments on their (& others) reimbursements for care is affecting their family & lives & compromising Will's recovery immeasurably. gofund.me/1ad4fdc4
From Katie's post on the gofundme: "Yesterday, as a result of a Trump executive order, there was a stop payment on travel reimbursement. Our family was counting on reimbursements to help recoup over $8,000 we spent last summer in medical travel expenses. The reimbursement took over nine months to coordinate and was already allocated to other debt, but that money is now gone. Because Trump froze credit card usage in the agencies last month, effectively stymieing multiple attempts by agencies to facilitate this process, there was no way to complete the reimbursement before the executive order. The firings within the VA have slowed communication and service in other ways. Will has now gone a month without any of his physical and occupational therapies, except what I can provide between work, homeschool, home modification projects, and managing the administrative and medical tasks. We hope to get his therapies back up and running soon, but there is no guarantee of their continuation. It’s egregious that any veteran in his condition should have his care interrupted in this way."
March 23, 2025 at 3:57 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
happy Twin Peaks Day / give yourself a present 🌲☕️🌲
Still photo of Kyle Maclachlan as Agent Dale Cooper in Twin Peaks. He's in profile, driving a car with one hand & talking into his tape recorder to Diane with the other. Closed caption reads "Diane, 11:30a.m., February 24th. Entering the town of Twin Peaks."
February 24, 2025 at 7:09 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
I know I might be biased, but: Charles Wright, "Snow"
Snow If we, as we are, are dust, and dust, as it will, rises, Then we will rise, and recongregate In the wind, in the cloud, and be their issue, Things in a fall in a world of fall, and slip Through the spiked branches and snapped joints of the evergreens, White ants, white ants and the little ribs. Charles Wright
February 10, 2025 at 8:29 PM
a-woo.bsky.social
David Lynch has always & will continue to be an oracle for my writing self. He is tuned in to a collective dream frequency & that's where he continues to live for me. This one was for the Laura Palmer(s) in all/some of us.

www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazi...
Amy Woolard's poem "Laura Palmer Graduates" I can't love them if their hands aren't all tore up From something, guitar strings, kitchen knives & grease Burns, heaving the window ACs onto their crooked old Sills come June. Fighting back. That porchlight's browned Inside with moth husks again & I can't climb a ladder To save my life, i.e., the world spins. Even when it's lit, It's half ash. Full-drunk under a half-moon & I'm dazed We're all still here. Most of us, least. For the one & every Girl gone, I sticker gold stars behind my front teeth so I can taste just how good we were. I swear I can't Love them if they can't fathom why an unlit ambulance On a late highway means good luck. I hold my cigarette- Smoking arm upright like I'm trying to keep blood From rushing to a cut. What's true is my shift's over & I'm here with you now & I'm wrapped up tight On the steps like a top sheet like the morning paper Before it's morning. Look up & smile. What does it matter That the stars we see are already dead. If that's the case well Then the people are too. Alive is a little present I Give myself once a day. Baby, don't think I won't doll Up & look myself fresh in the eyes, in the vermilion Pincurl of my still heart & say: *it's happening again*.
January 17, 2025 at 10:18 PM