Annual Day of Mourning
Today is the 19-year anniversary of my brother’s death near Baghdad, Iraq. After 9/11, I had feared his deployment to a war zone. I wrote the following poem when he…
First Kiss
She tastes like marijuana and cabernet; it’s how she self-medicates her lore, who she was before; she rips this moment ablaze and pulls me sulfur-sparking all the way further into…
Drunk on His Poetry
His word-fingers slip my buttons from their slots, those intentional letters sparkle my spots and crevices. My mind sips his thoughts, my heart disintegrates, melts wetter into the dots of…
No Medication
Sometimes, I die inside because people I love are there. There’s no solution, no medication to tighten tear ducts or lighten the aches, no erasers for the sharp lines and…
Claws at the Office
Some of our sisters are the most twisted villains; She brings coffee when she senses a mess, a hint of drama, a speck of a stressful item on the agenda,…
A Poet’s Hustling Pen
I wish I had more of me to bleed into these scribbles that I manage to dribble onto paper scraps, squish into the white spaces of dinner receipts and food…