Madre, that Spanish man was no good. His hands touched what shouldn’t have been touched His tongue forced down your throat. He said you...

Your room was the darkest shade of burgundy Built upon the remnants of an old nursing home The walls were laden with old photographs...

I spent the summer on my back, staring at the sea Lying in the sand, grieving with all the other vagabonds I could see Bermuda, I could...

Sometimes ants crawl out of my mouth Carrying the things that are dear to me And I am left unable to speak Sometimes I walk into the yard...