RECENTLY PUBLISHED


Malacca River

When the rain came, sweet earth bloomed. /
The river’s wound healed, swelling to meet /
the first lightning strike in a kiss. Still buried /
in the silt of the riverbed, I opened my mouth /
to taste the first drop—as acrid as raw honey.


BRUNCH.

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


Rippling Through the Dark

Light / traipses through water and water / envelopes my mother’s hands. / How her hands have torqued / my dark body—a kind of light / I’ve never understood


Manejo

Not Estela, /
pigtails & cadence /
of okay mamá...okay papá /
w/o either parent.