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I have been spending time with an elderly lady we call Aunt Nadine. She is not really my aunt but we call her that because she might as well be, and because it makes us feel closer. After school I make a little trek to her house and we make tiny sandwiches with cucumbers in them and eat them with green tea. Sometimes I do my schoolwork quietly and ( Read more... )

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It is winter a newborn
opens his wide red mouth
in drop five clusters of snow
from a tree that has
five proud fingers
curling against the sky
up the corners of January

Wide red hands are birds
pulling the cold air
into dark wrinkles
these shadows, they are just ideas
that have lost focus
he shuts his eyes, sees colours
spine against the sun
the ( Read more... )

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When I looked at it I realized that I was looking for something that was already gone. Something indestructible and uncatchable. Something that could never be held. It had gone and left a pile of bones and fur. It is what unfleshes dark areas, fills the hollows of the world, molds and shapes like rain when the bones of flowers begin to slump. It ( Read more... )

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When I was small, my mother had long long hair. It fell in a dark river past her waist and smelled like warm laundry. It ran like water through my fingers as I sat on her bed, braiding and combing. When she carried me, I found sanctuary in her hair, wrapping my arms around her neck and pressing my face into the sweet smelling curtain that ( Read more... )