The turtle widow
The wavelength of red.
The lineage of honeycrisp
Category 365 Collection
Missing
My mother still beads adhans into a rosary at the minaret
Last Rites
Billions of snakes
deep throating themselves into oblivion.
we wake up and make love
you laugh about buying
duck eggs from the farmstand
Those Coming From the Frost
Outside, that bright horizontal line cut the land in two. In his mind, Murrey was everywhere but the kitchen. In his mind, the bitterness of the coffee diluted, and it was morning.
Insurmountable
Mountains can block clouds, peak so high rain can’t climb them
Sorrel Soft Serve
fat red flowers, tomato toast
Misophonia, or How To Be Trans & Be Quiet
Imagine my gender
did not belong to the highest bidder.
Last Summer
she squints, pausing only to wipe the sheen from her black brow
On 17 February, 1999
she birthed me- her first son, laying in a cot under a leaking roof