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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Bridges to forgiving lands are hooked onto the edges of Plath's suicidal words. She kills you softly with her stories, and buries you beneath the crests of her sadness. She is not merciful, or understanding, she simply wants you there. She wants you to lie beneath the murderous kisse...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    every morning at dawn, I wake to the rustle of my father's newspaper. with intervals separated by the silent attentiveness of his watchful eye, the years he has collected in them tracing the inky letters. I wake just hours later, and as I sling my bag over my shoulder and tuck my ...

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