The weather forecast of my mother tongue
I fish them out every evening, lay them down
Category Poetry and Prose Contest
The Masjid
I grew up like a speeded prayer
No Longer Hiding, Only Rising
Let your skin remember the path your ancestors carved in silence
What Could Be
Cattails spread across the old parking lot
Grief Haibun
i am clocked in for 30 minutes when i get the call
AVRIL
Dead boys wear sun-bleached keffiyehs on the walls of a stone city
The House Beyond the Swamp
the family who squatted between our house and the bog
Summer Vacation
I spotted my son’s dangling wet hands.
A Crystalled Night
The Danube is, afterall, the biggest Jewish graveyard
Lady Luck
The hem of her jeans catches on a piece of pockmarked driftwood