The Echo Chamber
The keeper who took my voice promised to lock it into a wooden box until it has been properly reviewed. Still, if a good word comes back, I might not recognize it.
We’re Refugees Who Found Love Searching for Atlantis
We walked there in the twilight and sang skysongs
Our bodies were translucent and full of darkness
How we carried our homeland in our bones
Ceramics
The executioners grill letters and sigils
into every corporal surface,
black butterflies on her nails,
a sponsor, fingers curling like locks of hair
on her head,
ink paintings on her eyes.
Harvest
One day she herself ripened,
swelling with the demon’s child.
Twelve months she grew and grew,
rounder than a pumpkin.
Colonial
How can I acknowledge your things of whiteness
mine? Born too late for never-setting empires
cinderella
he saw you, blue / as frostbite, wild soot-stained hair and manic eyes, / your heart, a birdhouse of caged fluttering / wings.
