Lady Luck
The hem of her jeans catches on a piece of pockmarked driftwood
Category Poetry and Prose Contest
Summer Vacation
I spotted my son’s dangling wet hands.
AVRIL
Dead boys wear sun-bleached keffiyehs on the walls of a stone city
What Could Be
Cattails spread across the old parking lot
The Masjid
I grew up like a speeded prayer
Stream Trail in Spring
I could hear the shuffle of a spotted towhee
Women’s Compartment
Outside the city unravels—billboards, half-built flyovers, and a guava-seller.
What Remains
They teach you to you that revolutions are swift or that they never are.
Paper Promises
The bonfire will be built in the encampments so it may burn the unhoused.
Daughters On The Brink
I want to ask if he meant two nights ago, when he first brought it up after a long day at work