Category: Poetry
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Parada
The world is sicker than me, and I can’t keep it still.
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One Cousin
I can’t remember anymore. they grew up, two by two.
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Last Nine Days of Poetry Sedation
I left poetry books everywhere. On top of the washing machine and on end tables and bookshelves, not stacked neatly.
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Asimmetria
and I’m apologetic to the spider who must work again.
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Bea
dark sleek hair, skin warm and glinting off the soft purples of the arcade bar’s glow.
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Over Halfway with Sealey
I have about nine days left and I’m three ~60 page books behind. Which feels as heavy as running inclines when your legs are done.
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Seven Days of the Sealey Challenge
I diligently read and became entranced by Heather Christle’s The Trees The Trees. Oh, how I saw myself in her roots and her ruthlessness.
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Shale
The smell of twisted black iron lingered on my hands as I gripped the spiraling banister.
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Under the Wallpaper
where the newly plain walls smelled of Pear Glacé, a heavy lotion I’d steal and lather over my legs, stretched across celadon carpet that reeked of sneakers worn without socks.
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Hear Yourself
on pausing between lines, grass, and touch.
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Are You the Twin?
on parallel lives, stitched close, split wide, stitched again.
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anything
on snails and songs.
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a record
on gigi and time with our dogs.
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Fortune July
on the Fourth of July, familial love, & joy, despite awareness of broader societal issues.
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why’s it always a weather metaphor? 🎧
on nuanced exploration of hope and anticipation amidst a heavy, silent sky.
