The Dog

How easily / I could imagine a version of our lives / in which he kept all his suffering secret from me. / I saw the beer on the counter.


Ode to the Loom

Sweet loom, old friend of an old woman / you are an ancestor she prays to

photo of a barren desert

from Feed

I would LOVE to imagine
being alive in five
years but I have these bones u know?

black and white photo of a bird's wing


An erasure poem of "Age Ain't Nothing But a Number" by Aaliyah

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.

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.