Category: Poetry

Some nights I’m young again;         a child choking on the body of Christ.        I read               this is common, that

Consent, however, there was never such a thing. As if when a boy teased you, it only meant he liked you, And if you teased

I The accent. This is self-explanatory. Study the news, slow down, stretch your mouth. Avoid saying steel mill, TV, and smile. They will give you

when i feel done with a poem it’s like waking up after a risky surgery and feeling pleased to have survived all the knives but

Connect. Take the cup & place the label, look at the order & look at the guy, not in a rush. Easy. Pump. Six times

i was born on friday the thirteenth and baptized on halloween four years later. spooky girl, she-who-wears-black-and-not-much- else. when i was small, i whispered little

Even though you don’t text me about God anymore, I hear you offering up your grief to him in the silences between us while we

1—Is this the sin our grandmothers spoke of? Organs splayed like butterflies shot down mid-flight.    2—Bedtime stories were set upon beanstalks, their weight pushing

In the desk drawer. Of immigrant parents. Papers. Never lose documents. Loose documents. Could be sent home. That’s your home. The place you left. So