Istiklal Street
Remember the alley.You are steps beyond me.The outline of your back,frayed shirt.To be able...
A Small Caravan
I grow fond of the silhouetteof the man in the green Broncooutlined against yellow...
Surrender
When the soil is November hard, nowarmer than March – darker than days donesearch...
litany of open throats
we harvest blackened walnut husks for ink, hands stained, and i am blackcap-taken, wing-stolen,...
Askew Road, London
Heat. Around the fruit bowl like flies,dripping from the fridge handle,the upturned door numbersdropping...
The Swagger, Hola, & Dominican Robin
The Swagger In high school,I used to study the older girls,those shameless lessonsin how...
boys don’t cry (but they can survive)
Grix (they/them) is a chronically ill and disabled nonbinary trans femme who writes and...
Porcelain
I am thorns and petals too alike they are onea breed with nectars beasts...
The Inner Circle
When I was fifteen, my grandmother passed away. She lived a long life, the...
Shopping for a Dress for My Father’s Funeral
I prefer consignment shops, don’t likepaying full price. My father, the ultimatebargain shopper, would...