poetry

  canopy// I lay in the dark of my childhood bedroom, hungry for a woman—for linked arms, grins with all our teeth, and howling at a movie projector moon.   understory// Here the moonlight spits through the slats in the … Read More

  It’s 3:10 in the morning and again, I am thinking About nothingness. I do not know how to stop. My mother said I am a man trapped inside a man Trapped inside another man that is too old to … Read More

  At the town council meeting, they want to hold the sun accountable for night. Yes, let’s invent a better fence. Yes, let’s deem the teens gliomas on society. Who stole the bulbs from the streetlamps? Who sold this story … Read More

  I kept staring at the pond that led to our front door entrance. As the koi fish swam, I noticed that the one I named Ephemeral had finally disappeared. Every koi fish in that pond was made out of … Read More

  Untitled (Black on Gray), 1970 In time, the sky devoured the hill, freeing three shades of darkness from the trees. I woke you, carried you to the window, so we could look for what we’d failed to see. Maybe … Read More

  You know tomorrow is the Woman at the Well, my mother says on the phone, meaning I know you’re not going and you haven’t been. You can’t just barge in for supper, kiss the nails, sit back and watch … Read More

  I believe in ghosts and angels and god or a burst that made me from love. I believe in a city where no one is hungry with houses made of native grass and biodegradable long-term material and the color … Read More

now, imagine all the women healed— when you heal, part of the earth heals I wanted to drag my father’s family out into the street make them listen to their decades of silence make them wrench their unmoved tongues from … Read More

  for lost causes like the gravity of granola in mornings. The heaviness of missing bacon fat. Or the folds of you when you stretched on top of me then back then forth. Or the calling of us in the … Read More

  my father tells me i look beautiful in my blue collar dress and shows me a pair of cufflinks he reserved for my wedding day and i like to think we would link arms on our way to my … Read More

  my story is the same as every little boy’s in a white wedding dress using a hairbrush as a microphone crimson lips smudged from the aftereffects of fidget- ing sleepy eyes masquerading as earned indifference our story is the … Read More

  Babushka planted her sunflowers so full of seeds, they gave all of themselves away to the motherland now red with oxide ore deposits. Each dirt road & cracked field littered with tanks & crows. Grasses yellowed under bodies like … Read More