Autumn

It is hard to not hate
myself, the self who’d rather/ turn inward as dusk spirals
into its Tang dissolve. And isn’t ruin, too,/ a thing to celebrate?


Talking to the Dead

She doesn’t know why I left the other one who sees the dead was too young to be sent off to boarding school stayed home to witness




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Ruth Asawa: Each Loop, A Lifetime

Says the artist: There is no separation between studying, performing the daily chores of living, and creating one’s own work.


close up of skin of human's back with scratch marks

Skin

This skin has listened as I have tried to formulate sentences and protests to how it has been handled, and then has accepted that I have done nothing to save it from being touched.


BRUNCH.

i am descendant from women who greet death like brunch. /
i do not know if this is bravery or foolishness.