I’ve got the hands of a woman with nothing left to give the feet of a woman with nowhere to go, not even home— tú haces que mi corazón lata but, that’s not right either, is it? we lived in a bubble, the real world exposed to the pretend, now, I fall ill my immune […]
I hear my grandmother whisper, “Is she really thinking about…?” And my mother answers, “I don’t know,” exasperated, “I try to stay out of stuff like that.” And I am in my room, poetry pressing against my eyelids because it’s easier this way, easier than seeing the rain clouds. Am I really thinking about…? My […]
you take me to the community table where I like watching all the old men socialize with one another but today my eyes translated their lives into death that one, with the nicotine stained beard, he’ll stumble into the heart attack named widow-maker and that young man, with the black pencil on his waterline, an […]
it happened again last night, heard him in my dreams again wakefulness greeted me with the memory of his vacant eyes, fixed upon the ceiling above and I’m studying the star-shaped tattoo on his chest, chanting his name over and over in my head again sorry I haven’t been home in a couple days, it’s […]
Yesterday, we brought a man back from the dead. What follows is always a collection of poetry.
I could use some chicken noodle soup right now, but this is the best I can do without a stove.
I like to think of this flash fiction as the acoustic version to a similar story unfolding in my head.