Poetry

packrat

from memories to broken toys — i keep everything — hoping to recycle them into a poem. or story.

1 year ago

Another Name for Each of Us

Our son’s called Le Tian in his Mandarin school, a name his grandmother—his Po— gave him.

1 year ago

I’ll unstitch myself

for you, watch myself weave through spindle and spine, I’ll wrap around your mannequin form.

1 year ago

Holy Roller

was the nickname we gave to an aunt on my mother’s side, she never missed a day of church

1 year ago

Skewered

I tell my Tinder date I was four when dad fed me stewed dog meat

1 year ago

Aubade in the Apiary

In the gabled room of your uncle’s house,  I left you sleeping, left you  before your alarm could sound, before …

2 years ago

Cannoli

After forgiving my sister for punching me   at our father's second wedding, we make cannoli.     She says she feels…

2 years ago

They Named Us All John/Juan

Like a good bird flying, he would say when I asked how his day went. Fingering the holes in his…

2 years ago

Permanence

If the sand  migrates south to some other  coastal town,  dredgers haul up  the ocean floor,  pumping the slurry  onto the diminished shore and bulldozing it  into acceptable …

2 years ago

Self Portrait: Crumpled

All the dictionary                           is erased—          palimpset                                   pulpy                                                                                                      remembering You are not a title page                                                                     not the index          of your             skin            you are the falling autumn         already…

3 years ago

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