Ocean breeze coats my skin, tangles with my tongue, draws me with its cacophony. Pebbles crunch, just rocks and rocks and rocks, down winding stairs and murals warning: at your own risk, grab the rope, snag a root. Salt sea crashes into gray rock shore, shatters silence with its seaweed-strewn tide.
I remember when you first walked into my room in a navy blue surgical suit with a bright yellow ‘UofM’ logo, and a scrub cap with the opposing team’s emblem, boldly displayed on the front. The first irony of this whole endeavor. You were calm and supportive, you were kind and loving, you were
Look and see where the riverbend sings, and light flows down in torrents, where air solidifies into asymmetrical butterflies, and the stone pine crumbles into ash. You look the other way and see your face reflected in the blind man’s mirror, a pebble heart sunk low into the mud. The riverbed overf
I run on the uneven sand to the Pacific where the sea breeze whips my hair. I smile, not stopping to realize I will see it from the other side. It doesn’t matter. I am already losing myself. *** I stand in trains packed like sardine cans and empty ones that wait. I stand waving […]
A stick, a stone, a lost spelling bee the militent – sorry, militant nature of casual conversation. A gun, a knife the wasteland between what your major is and what’s next. Pollen, the way everything sticks, and the way everybody gets stoned. Electric cars, ghost tours in convertible-hearses, an
We must cherish those light-up bugs, floating flitting, fireflies, dancing through the fading dusk, tiny wings hitting, fireflies. While the loon yodels over ponds of flowers and green reeds, Their beams scatter, stitching skyward patterns, spitting fireflies. The trike, dumped in the drive on its s
and it is now, as it was then—a story bleeding smoke from half-burned cigarettes and rainbowed oil puddles that jaywalkers track leisurely across the street as drivers slam on either the horn or the brakes, and even aversion is a kind of violence so you are not surprised when the street swallows y
Hands laid, we’re praying in circles until something new— someone on the far side passes gas (there is no solemn way to say it) and we laugh in stifled chokes and gasps. My body trembles and my hands are laid on another whose body is also trembling as we try to continue with bitten lips [&hellip
Why is blood so often sown in meadows— like the petals that bloomed from Hyacinthus’s body, or the anemones that opened like Adonis’s eyes in death? Every flower has its season and every pleasure its pain. Hyacinths for the deep bruise of jealousy. Anemones, for enemies: a warning for the fors
Back in 2010, we slept on the same bed and smudged peach gloss onto our lips, fanning ourselves with our Hannah Montana flip flops, still sandy from the playground. On those endless days, we were entangled with one another, whispering and dreaming in sync. I laid on your sofa and ate packages of Gir
