Tall red flowers overflow from a thin bottleneck in front of Ebelyn’s slick right hand pouring devilish red wine down her throat. I can’t stop watching it happen even though we all know how it ends.
When I first met her, she was buried in clothes, her head in a book. I knew then that whatever my father had told me about my mother was wrong. I mean, of course I knew it was wrong growing up but now I knew for sure. Read More
For the first time in my new home,
I take plant off of its hook.
Dead leaves bury the health Read More
of what I just realized is my
Underneath my belly button ripens: Read More
all that it can do when I am in love
with thai food, dirty hands and
an arch in his back: natural,
It was not out of fear that I left the jungle. It was for the trees. It's fall in the midwestern suburbs. The treetops have taken a pulse and I'm here beneath them in awe of simple things like: water collecting on top of candles left out; how inconsequential it is that they will never light again, the disobedient dog we own poking her head around the corner; curious about impermanence or the violent orange and red colors that I am. Read More
A woman with a sharp jaw Read More
bit into a grapefruit raw.
Sucked it dry and good
for nothing like she likes
Believable that I've already killed my plant.
I try not to drown it,
its big heart leaves: a slide, stealing
water, near flooding
the room I live in.
If it does not want to be fed, how can I force it? Read More