Her
I could write a poem about daffodils. I could. I could write a stupid poem about daffodils. And it would be sad and heart-string-pulling...
Fugue
Doctors said she was the owner of problematic post-synaptic endings, she heard layered noises—birds pecking at tree bark, and picking...
Pansdor
1. The fractal /ˈfræktəl/ is a chaotic phenomenon. A geometrical structure having an irregular or fragmented shape at all scales of...
Black Lives Matter
Is my son next, Is my brother next, Is my daughter next, Is my father next: black boys, black men wonder if they are next, just when you...
Braless
Papa pours himself black tea from the old iron kettle, probably thinking about stacking hay. He says I was bottle-fed cow’s milk. He’d...
The Leaves are Piling Up
against the stonewall siding and the white lattice fence out front. Years ago I would have raked them up and buried myself in the heap...
Citrus
I’d like to shade my sun-dried scalp and snap my joints under this tangerine tree, Climb down from this tall ladder, Pour my sack of...
To My Poet
I am a cursive body running laps on your notepad telling you the story of how we first met. I am the best type of tickle -- a spark that...
Noodlehead Days
i remember taking snails home tan little palms became their home spending most days in july stomping on rain puddles to prove i could be...
Call
The issues – and there are many – start like this: The universe is a fishbowl in a science classroom full of high school freshmen. Eyes...
