Her Marked Black Body

The macabre moon / Once lunged at me / It hisses red / Hangs voyeuristically / Wants me to stand in its balkanized light.

Etymology of Chlorophyll

Love, / from Germanic lufu, is intestinal and milky / like undug onions squeezed from mothers.

Letter to a Dead Mother

Thinking of you as I pick up flecks of oats from the kitchen floor, / put them back in the container. You know, the five-second rule.


We watch the gardener arc the hose / carelessly washing away the work / of mud sparrows, hornets and wasps.

Ambiguous Loss

It feels like holding a bird in one hand / and a bowling ball in the other.

The Rice-Eating Ceremony

Nine months into my life, I am asked to eat on command / These tiny bursts of cylindrical snow that will reappear / Again and again

On January 24th*

It’s been proven, they say— / the bills like a line of ants, / the glamour of the new year / grown dull like a tin ring

My Friend in Flapping Stages Tries to Take Flight

April is my favorite month. / Its stormy flowers / and puddled rainbows are captivating / as is the lightning / that breaks cool spring nights / like a child’s scribble.


Passing by the burial ground, / I see some flickers of light. / A friend tells me / it’s the bones that flash.