This silence does not cease
and smoke in lungs becomes a sticky forest
where women die.
Truly men are like that—
The six bodies were found in the spring
covered by eight o’clock news
beneath wet snow and layers of air.Read More
"I’m trying to think of words that describe softness
warm fur and sunshine and flowers and round clouds of cigarette smoke you gift me.
I’m trying to uncomplicate how I feel about these things that smell like danger
and why we’re drawn to men like wolves, howling in the night, hungry."
good thingsRead More
THE SMELL OF FOOD AND FORGETTINGRead More
but also her morning songRead More
The beat of boats and floating bridges.
The beat of your hair against mine.Read More
This old watermill of your mother
creaking in wooden tightness against
water flowing like a body in ecstasy.
No. 1Read More