It starts just before dusk: golden hour spritzed with Callery pear trees.
On Becoming Memory
Remember, swollen lungs can drown. / I remember her drowning. / I am drowning myself as I write this.
Decamp into ramps of small intestine twists, she says. But driving alone, you’ve always avoided highways—for the fear of breeze shaving crazily at your vehicle’s chemo head, other drivers bullying your sluggishness or the spotlessness of speed guns with km bullets aiming at your windscreen's chest.
Fourteen Ways of Looking
At fourteen I imagined that in the face of great tragedy, I would be brave, heroic even.
“Connotations” and “Rewrite request”
Gradually conceals / suddenly. Confiscated takes a bullet for / stolen. A whole family hiding / beneath the floorboards of language.
A Broken Alphabet
So what if / thoughts are things and / things are ten digit passcodes
By The Numbers
On the coldest nights, you could hear these other lives. Broken housing contracts and paystubs-that-never-were fluttering their wings in the wind.