Janamaz
The finest strand of dark green yarn / masquerades itself an accessory / wispy and frayed
At the Cut
The American dentist who shot Cecil the Lion once said, If I had known this animal had a name … I obviously wouldn’t have killed it.
I know I still believe
in people. That whatever gods / I choose, I choose to love
On the Off Chance I Am Not Alone Forever • What Are The Boys Doing On Their Camping Trip?
I buy an old city bus, which will / whisk me away from this sinkhole I'm circling.
In the Belly of the Whale
Last night I dreamt of / walking to Auger Beach / at dusk / only to find the tide / too high again:
notes on anticipation
In this moment that has come to happen / in other moments, the notes / of birds nestled in my asking.
Two Poems
The new year begins in winter white embroidery— / trumpeter swans and needle-slim herons piercing / drainage ditches.
The Year of Getting Better
“It’s the year of getting better,” her mother said as she walked into the room. It was Thora’s second hospital stay of the year.
Memory, a Lacuna
My mother and grandmother were born in ‘the land of the lake,’ or La Comarca de la Laguna, a cradle of fertile land between the Sierra Madre mountain ranges in the northern Mexican desert
Every Morning I Take a Bus Through the West Bank (II)
As I look out upon a landscape now heavily shaped by American colonialism, I know another world is possible.
Art in the space of social issues
