He’s got you stuck in his teeth. Remember, summer? Well, tell me: Why’d you leave him and I alone in the blue tiled bathroom? Remember, summer? The one with the blood stained floors that we sat on for hours. Well, tell me: Why’d you trap us outside the screen door? Remember, s
in orchards of lemon trees we tiptoe, under the hanging yellow fruit in blue moonlight, we will stay until orange light leads us inside
in orchards of lemon trees we giggle at your pinched sour face as you taste the bitterness from the tip of your tongue trailing back to your throat
My mother mourns leaving her own country so deeply it runs through her veins into mine. Bangladesh is what she knows and what she loves. She spends her time showing me her culture: spinning through dances, running through poetry, and wading through history.
The sound of the train past midnight And a clear sort of light seek my room and cheeks Leaving the layers of darkness, moon, and house light stale and stark As if the lighter colored sheaths of air in the dark are unbreathable As if I’m lying to myself about what I really see through the night
Egg-yolks blooming in serenity baba’s palms turn upwards black dirt falling on the sun. The fruit of baba’s hands covered in spines twisted but not the wicked way that punctures skin. Serpentine limbs extend in search of hands to hold fingers to suffocate. Pungent soil moistens fingertips incande
sometime before the clock hit eleven, i thought of you. i imagined the threat your caressing fingers possess as they trace targets on the side of my belly.
i look to see you in mirrors and through windowpane reflections, but i am disappointed and relieved every time.
I will never call a Latino “papi” sino héroe, soldado, sobreviviente Brother in bondage, sibling in survival The chains of the Hispanic clink with those of his Black cellmate We languish under the same white gall Asian men rattle wire fences in 1930s internment camps White supremacists l
I miss running down the street with you at half past 3 When your dad dropped you off after softball practice on Sunday afternoons. And there was never anything more than grass stains on white pants and empty soda cans that my mom told me to throw away two hours ago. The boys that surrounded us we
i never met her but i always knew she was there my dad talked about her so fondly “we used to drive for hours listening to old cassette tapes singing along not knowing where we were going but not caring” sometimes one of the songs they used to sing would come on the radio my dad would turn it up
You ask me If I know the way back home from here. I sing the words, “yes, dear” back to you like I’m someone else. You say “alright” because you’ve got nothing else to say right now; I respect that. I keep my eyes on the road. I’m not quite sure where you’re looking at this point
Montana and Wyoming The sprawling landscape of Yellowstone Against towering mountains Form a place that I’d never seen before The animals and people you meet at pull offs Are what make the experience an experience Waiting for Old Faithful to burst After a long enough time it does The height of th
Yesterday, I took a walk. I went through the park, I passed by one empty cup, two used napkins, three cigarette butts. I jaywalked across the street, past the hardware store and into the coffee shop. I ordered a small latte, handed the pretty barista a five-dollar bill and stuffed the change in m
Wet hair clings to my cheeks salty from the rain Drops like tears slide down my nose as the gray of the sky peers down upon me Barefoot in the grass for a few moments I forget about the life I am crushing below With my eyes closed I block out the rushing of the highway in the distance and the sch
It’s strung together through the fibers on the back of the lost Dreams that leave you sweat-stained and hopeful How dare we doubt ourselves? In the midst of our mist and making, we think to miss? The power lines crackling with your work your thoughts your history you don’t get to be They lie ther
But you need it, you said. I thought you wanted to be beautiful. I slammed my hands on the wheel of your Land Rover and pulled over to the side of the road near the big houses with green lawns and trampolines, Norfolk Way.
Maybe it was the wind that blew her to the ground. Maybe a subtle hollow she hadn’t noticed brought her down. Either way, she ends up in the dirt. Earth covers the soft pink fabric draped over her Like paint splattered on a porcelain canvas. She looks to the graying skies, through a pair of unkno
A ransacked village in India is where my lineage began Women. Women, I will And Can never, ever know. Tribulations my western brain Cannot comprehend. They made me. I have the blood of Hundreds Of Maharanis, princesses, and queens of India. The iron will of thousands of brave Pakistani women burn
Somehow, I pull the words out of my mouth like the colorful scarves inside the sleeve of an amateur magician And we are both trying so hard To save our best magic trick to use on ourselves So that everyone can stop asking so much of us Such constant noise and one day we will show them how you can