Becoming Ghost

He says: I want it to smell / like the real thing. // The real thing / is a landscape // of work and death–– / the names of our ancestors // slack in our mouths, / just the art of loving // your family line enough / to reproduce it.

On Spinsterhood

I want to know what happens when there is no ending, when Mr. Right remains elusive.


What I want most is to be rendered invisible, but my hair has never been so loud.

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photo of a long snake on a path in the forest

Skin Like Snake

She once wrote, “I wish to shed my skin like a snake and become someone else.”

photo of a brain coral underneath the ocean

Nervous System

The neurologist says, The world must be dreamed
before it can be seen—

photo of barbed wire on a fence on a cloudy day

Involuntary Exits

I am a child of wayward fruit / trying to touch a violence— / its bruised shape, a mirror / of my own dark face & hers.

Not Everyone Is Special

“Your Power doesn’t define who you are,” she said the night we met at the Happy Flamingo, a straw floating on its side in her daiquiri.