Motherland Bucia rode a boat from Polska before she was babushka and birthed American dolls: mother and grandmother. I call them …
Browsing Category Poetry
But Have You Ever Heard Such Quietness
But have you ever heard such quietness as aftermath: senility of fight, diminuendo truth, that slow regress? June. Whole world “can’t breathe.” Vicarious sufferers. All swallowed fire. Bright. But have you ever heard such quietness…
Girls’ Night
Lisa says food is sad, hasn’t eaten in three days. Jan is made of matchsticks, wants the boys to light her, light her, light her. Sean gives herself a buzz cut, grows girl tired. Mae…
“to mukethe” and “notjustyet notjustyet”
to mukethe come listen to the wind with me. those gulf storms are still blowing residual gusts east, only so much that it’s a nightlong pleasant rattle on the bedroom’s flimsy windows; not enough to…
For the Blood of Me
The month wanes. Soon my mother will make sure I swallow three shredded dates daily, for the blood of me. I say: no can’t you see it’s a chore to dig them out, tongue on…