1 Childless and widowed, I slide into bed like a bug that scuttles away to escape getting stomped. I am not a bug but I am flattened. By loneliness, worry, missing my boy, now grown….
Browsing Category Prose, Poetry, and Art
Nature Poet
–for Lucas Clark In the rain, I climb into the mouthof the cave, and Lucas is rowing throughhis dream. He says, there are so many peoplein the next life, like you wouldn’t believe.His boat has…
Dear East County
You cradled our moto-X babies, our strip mall teens, and three pack a day fathers, chilled our ring-tabbed beer cans in your run-off rivers, and absorbed oilrising like mist from our vats of fried food, sucked exhaust from our…
Addendum: Nala-e-bebak
In Urdu, there exists a phrase—nala-e-bebak: an audacious sorrow. 2007: When my grandmother died, she turned into a parrot. An obscure ritual was performed to determine what type of body she would be reborn in…