Poetry
Poetry,
And We Listened For Rain
How beyond years they pray for a heartbeat. How they set homes afire yet groan for their darlings. How even in grief, they hear music.
Poetry,
Sweeping Gestures
The kind my mother spewed over the phone each night when Papa sneaked out for a smoke, complaining to her sister about me, him, her period, the price of saffron, the thievery of mango season, and I heard by hiding the cordless in my room.
Poetry,
SIXTY-FIVE ROSES :|: CYSTIC FIBROSIS
of when I was small / enough to trust a thin :|: woven / promise of comfort
Poetry,
Serenade / A Constellation in Training
scattered like salt on a sky as tender and open as a wound / each one / a distant city
Poetry,
Vote Count
trying to rearrange stars and stripes into something recognizable
Poetry,
ON ASKING MY MOTHER ABOUT WINTER 1990
we girls numbered snails and trembling tendrils of light, / oak whispers and green gooseberries to dip in salt
Poetry,
Letting
let it go let my eyes / fade my ears cease shut
Poetry,
Totem
so that I may take it in, / taste our communion / and learn what she means when she says / Mija, we are magic.