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  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    I see you in cracked mirrors when I'm browsing vintage shops. They remind me of your eyes when you kissed me like you meant it. When I'm browsing vintage shops, I think of stealing broken lamps because they remind me of your eyes. You used to melt into my fingers. I think of stealing bro...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    If only the dance hadn’t lost its grip on my shoulders. Had I let myself fall into the spotlight had I let my hips press against nylon, I might not have fallen upon the concrete and skinned my knees. Might my scars have appeared like runs in tights on thighs making lines from my hips to ...
  • Poetry > Sonnet
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    I carry you like a poem on my arm, written in sharpie to take it from my pounding head. Missing you should do no harm but to every day remind me why the ink has faded but you remain. I’m reminded of your leaving at night while watching you run down the shower drain. In this silent heat I kn...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I’ve never been the optimist, never bled sunlight or kissed fertile soil. I have always been the girl waiting on the concrete saying “it will never happen again” whenever a good thing lands on my fingertips and vanishes quickly in soapy nonchalance. I learned to kiss in the summer with eyes...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba In the darkness of the first night, when the words come dry, I haven’t yet remembered how to move or breathe again, and questions fall with the rain snaking into storm drains before they’ve touched your lips like B’alma di v’ra khir’utei the way ...
  • Poetry > Sonnet
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    When I was a child I thought I'd be The sky. I pretended I would use my Eyes to paint myself blue, talk to the trees, Inhale the clouds and exhale my heart by Letting it beat in time with the wind. Snow Would line my lungs and shield me from black ice, Hail, and airplanes. Up there no one wo...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Nigerian blood tastes like 1978, strobe- colored changing colors so blue is green is yellow is gold is African-colored midnight with pink flowers bursting and beauty and red. Nigerian blood smells like afrobeat like high as an Orisha political Elvis embroidered pantsuit sort of life sort of w...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    We were grappling with this dichotomy of when old we are, just waiting to taste flinted fire and lifeblood in the darkness. We’re part of some incorruptibly perverse procession scrubbed squeaking shining soft shaven slow shimmering smooth, scalped souvenirs of something suffered. We starve...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    In the morning I didn’t have to ask Why you tasted Like summer in the morning I didn’t have to ask While you suckled overmint How are you? At noon My fingers blistered Burned in air Combustion in your baby blues At noon my stomach burned And knees knocked How are you? Mid aft...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I kissed the corner of a prayer book before I ever kissed a boy. Swinging limply on worn rubber soles captured brusquely in your cinnamon eyes (they sparked in holy water, those frayed wires), I discovered the hollowness of bones and the fragility of theism. I composed soliloquys to the joy...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    We sipped liquid afternoon, A metallic concoction of sunlight, creek beds, American cars, and the dust Scraped off your ivory toes because your daddy Said no working man would ever have tan feet, The only time he was ever right. The older kids said it was a rite Of passage to have sex behi...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You were like gasoline burning in match light and dull candle fire. You were like the morning, like fog that chokes and blinds like the water. You were like salt stinging clogging scraping against the street and tire treads and souls. You sipped streetlamps like California wine, sonnet swee...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I heard the concrete and remembered singing summer, artificial sugar tunes, and your eyes, copper sublimed. I was as the sky is I belonged to the afternoon where you counted clouds and named me Blue. I spent my nights with the lions where the colors were the yellow of kings and of yo...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    On the beach writing suicide notes They were laughing And the waves danced around them And the paper got wet and they didn’t care And they threw their pencils into the water They went swimming to find them And in the waves they opened their eyes For a few clear seconds before they started t...
  • Art /
    Photo > Photographs
  • Art /
    Photo > Photographs
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  • Art /
    Photo > Photographs

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