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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    There are playing cards on the floor of the car of this over-romanticized train ride that will simply take me home. We passed over the dirty river near my mother’s hometown, and a nameless man in a sad hat took my ticket. The sentimental me wanted to ask him if I could please have it to rememb...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    This is a poem I did not write: When I saw you in the supermarket under fatal fluorescent lighting, a faint supermarket buzz coming from ­somewhere, and watched you try to decide between ­cereals I realized that your hands are birds with broken wings and that all the blackness in the world...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You did not break- no, more of a slow crumble, gentle erosion- exponentially so. Your bones, soft with wear and use softly deteriorated, slowly melded to the shape of my palm. Your skin shushed off your frame slowly like pouring hot tar onto the floor, until all that was left...

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