Husks
Steam whispers from the stove. You and I shuck corn, ripping away husks, revealing ears and ears. It was always summer then. Then there were no more summers. Drop them into the water. They do not know enough to scream.
Sabzi Mandi
It’s noon, grandma’s on the cot, next to the wall next to the window, peeling hot potatoes, her swollen feet blue, smell of her half-dry sari in the closed room, al dente dreams, parts you can’t chew, grandma’s white teeth uncooked corn, her nose-ring catches and spits light you sleep head on her chest past five at the Sabzi… Read more →
The Plagues
of water turning to blood the pink tornados in the porcelain,reminds me of time. hourglasssand pouring out of me. the blush,dusty rose. perpetual empty, the slowpendulum swing of fear when the waterstays clear to fear when it doesn’t. of frogs of squelch of wet smack of deep gut throatof expand retract release of slipslide on mother’skitchen tile of pink tongue… Read more →
How to keep a relationship alive, according to experts
Headline from Brides Magazine // 24 June 2021 One night, five weeks after your funeralyou crawled out of your grave. You creptacross barren streets and gutters half fullwith autumn, dragging your legs and losing bitsof belly with each block. I didn’t hear your gritty, ceaseless groan when you struggled through the open window, when you writheddown the hallway, or at last… Read more →
A Year
settles on your shoulders to weep what bones won’t hear to sing grim-lit and groovy to dance a grief subdued descend the stairs like baby hair intransigent as snow that froze time on the sharp blades of your back
Dolores Park Café
Strong coffee laptop ritualistic SundayWindowpane turkey sandwich flashing stoplightAcross street taxi graffiti in resistance isosceles Fragment existence impulsion is implosionIs routine absorbed and how who knew the scarTearing black-and-white photographic winter Dolores Park Café the pigeons at our feet
Bayberry Drive
I attempt many lives at once.The river rocks darken from the sweat of my palms.Crocuses again. The eggshell feathering stillholding in his old bedroom & his dress shirt swaying on the hanger.Going to bed w/o dinner. excruciating, familiar. how many timesare you divided? Looking in photographs for the cipher. I circle the backyard in the afternoon.Trample the parsley. He calls… Read more →
Earthing
the snare of last nightthe tug of the present thenthe thing done five years agoin the canyon tomorrow’s dinnergoing badly already rootsprouts from small woundsI awake with many heads hungrytake showers at odd timesthese small failings lenticelswhere the atmosphere is exchangedI take shape in their languagea millennia of yellow flowers thenwilt the way I ruin the earthjust by livingwatch national… Read more →
Story about Grief
A boy (dark-haired, 10, shirtless) stands on the grassy top of a cliff.After a while, he begins to pick up stones to throw intoor at the turquoise ocean 200 feet below.His stones barely clear the edge and thendrop to the rocks below. He runs closer and closer before letting the catapult of his arm fling.Each time, the stones hit rocks,… Read more →
Ghost-Horse in the Dream-Field (Foster Care)
Did you get the kids to school? my ghost-horse-mind wants to know. The backpack zipper snagged again, I say. Did you take the path above the sandstone silt? asks the ghost-horse, Were you careful through the pocked dust-field, demands the ghost. I can’t remember how it was before the galloping, I reply. Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts! says the horse-mind. I can’t… Read more →