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…
Posts tagged Portland Review
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…
Ruins & Stage Three
Ruins A child, two sizes too small. An improvised bomb on loan from the city’s museum of modern art. A plagiarist on the street corner tapping veins for the aftermarket haiku. A chamber maid removed…
Liminality, Organic Ambrosia
The lingua franca around here is produce. In the morning they arrive in droves, whole crops of apples drifting down the receiving ramp, packed breast to breast, these stubborn and hopeful things. Money and I…
Grapefruits, Melons, Cannonballs
All of my friends are cutting off their breasts. Top surgery. Breast reduction. The trans and the genderqueer and the top-heavy alike. It’s got me taking stock. Grapefruits, melons, cannonballs. Bazoongas, sweater puppies, jugs. Fun…