When we talk about Calexico my father always wants to go / back he had everything / the biggesthouse in…
Under the sapphire skythe wind gently nudges me.It is Brooklyn.Asking can I lend myeyes,ears,heart,and hands.Why me? I ask. See firstand…
Corridors draw youMuch as dreams do,To the heart ofAn inner darkness. Fast breath, small takesCerebral blood pounds slowThoughts thick and…
My mother becoming other dimensions of a manMy mother forgetting her name but remembering important datesMy mother turning her body…
I gave her my ashes in a pendant. Not seen it round her neck for weeks. What was your favourite…
you, glowing under the belly of golden hour inyour hillside dorm room, holding beloved betweenyour freezing fingers * in san…
Expiration didactic of home Marita Forgét is a Toronto based writer, poet and director. Their poems ‘Port Passage‘ and ‘underwaterflight‘…
Remember the alley.You are steps beyond me.The outline of your back,frayed shirt.To be able to touch youwithout imagining the end.The…
I grow fond of the silhouetteof the man in the green Broncooutlined against yellow wildflowersof Wyoming prairies beyond the windshield.…
When the soil is November hard, nowarmer than March – darker than days donesearch for me in the undergrowth; digyour…