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My new home needs some ghosts!The ones that hover in memoryand find their way to the floorboards,a patina of cremains that creaks with old joys, hurts, triumphs and defeats—the bark of good boys sitting patiently in their mahogany box above the dust of Cleopatra in her oaken tomb,always the silent bitch with the sad brown…
They called off the search to wait for the winds to pass,the demolition to collapse the weight of concrete onto flesh to make it safer for the cadaver dogsto locate their scent amidst the rubble.They called their names out bothin English and professional Spanish,mainly for show, mainly a memorial,loudly at first, then just a mumbled…
It’s hard to know home without rootsfirmly planted in the soil of stay, when cancer and cure move the lifeline.and a tornado the geography of property beyondthe winds of summer squalls and hard rains.My heart is not a sedentary plot.it knows no fixed seasons:winters blow into summersand summers into winters not allowing me a crag…
I have cried,I have grievedand therefore I have loved.I have twinned my existence:once in the joy of life and the other in the nacre of cancer.I have seen death, known it’s slow, sad and sometimes violent approachthrough the collapse of everything alive-how it roams throatless,holds tight,then lets go.if there is no heaven full of sunbeams…
When filmmakers fall asleep and flunk high school American History, America: The Motion Picture is what’s created years later- an animated, anarchic, free association lunacy that mixes up the American Revolution with the Civil War and shows that it respects America by disregarding its truth and hyping its memes. In this alternate America, George-Bon Jovi-Washington…
The Holy Ghost is freely pinned as sin is from the Devilamongst the broken back pews of a somnambulant congregationdreaming of the post church pot luck buffet.Release it to the wild,it flies to heaven,anointing a stained-glass angel peeled from the wall as second.The angel says,”You must wrestle me,”I dream of catching the uncatchable,holding that one…
All life mother kneaded him from her ma’s-g’ma’s pain and joy,from the bodies who all knew her into the one she knew well,collected from all the raw bits lost, found, saved from breads baked-unbaked,while the yeast swelled her stomach and pocked her skin. She said, “Eat, child,”and he fed ‘till her flesh broke. In the…
Is it so terrible to mourn a mother,to cry for the ones that shut the door and never returned,those never equipped to nurture a newborn from birth to death,the ones who desperately wanted to be mothers but couldn’t be,those who lost a child or never wanted to be mothers but are—should this be a day…
I should have broken my back by nowwith my lupine spine, feet screaming as if in a wolf trap. My outrage prowls the low valleysearching the arid land for water to slack the thirst,the howl inside.Once there was real silencebut no answer.Now, rage is my lone truth.The lamb has been eaten.Nothing stays in my broken…
