sleep soundly, as the warmness blankets you... these chilling, dark nights freeze hope to despair

I am a witness. of the evil, shape-shifting spirit hovering too nearly outside my window.

Some things are too familiar, too kind, too simple; and I can’t buy Basmati rice anymore.

but you speak english so well... yes, I know, I do. you don't even have an accent... yes, I know, I don't.

a red tulip in a vase, its final petal ready to drop: a six year old child falls asleep, dreams of six petals wrapped around her

one night at bath time, my mother tries scrubbing the brown out of me, grating a ridged sponge over & over my skin, until i'm crying

The bells chime, The lyre, harp, and trumpet; The notes are the rays Of the moon

Careful, dear child, when you walk on earth.

Certain journeys we can only make alone, reaching into the void and hoping we land safely.

I HATE MY TONGUE. The last words I said to my Abuelita were words said through tears and broken Spanish.

Long before evening, he imagines himself at your door, exchanging greetings with a brass knocker, the number 32.

heliotrope sprouts from the palms of his hands, the dirt sifting between his thin fingertips

Love expanded like a thought in my head circling like a snake made of smoke whispering of an endless hunger.

It was 3:41 in the afternoon, so Tony had just reached Pine Street on his walk home from school.

Instructions: Print and cut along the dotted lines. Mix and match to create your own poem.

five a.m. fog breaks for seafoam skies. I teardrop across dewy grass.

Thin air between us, our fogged breaths mingle, and you wait for my words to form from where they’re forged.

I am interested in human and nonhuman assemblages and other slippages between species and bodies, human or otherwise.

at first confession, I wish my favorite priest a happy Valentine’s.

Social media showcases our intimacies and our failures in filtered realities.