on stone

my mother thriving,my father now dusty bones,my parents are like my countriesand I am the land between the deserts and the prairies.America and my home Kingdom,they are nothing alike.Like my parents, they are divided by simple things, small ideas,that still keep them worlds apart.my worlds, my parents, both are wrought with ancient passions and dust,nothing… Continue reading on stone

on aging

I fear for my memories of the indian ocean, drying and curling at the edges like the yellowed pages of my favorite book. i fear the helpless sag of the skin around my smile,and, with something to lose, i lie awake marinading in terrorover mental atrocities likewhat to do to accept your mother’s mortality,how to… Continue reading on aging

On weekdays

why does it feel so good to dwell and wallow,and why do all the pretty songs make me sad-worthless questions that I use to deflectlike a windbreakerthe gusty surprise of my empty yard, there is just wood to shield my walls from this windy dayand the subsequent pressure of staying uprighthas all my sturdy weeds… Continue reading On weekdays