i knew my poh-pohthrough my mother first—a wordless womanmade cruel and callous by war,by orphanage; undigested toneschewed and spit out as lotus paste.goldenrod teeth, appleseed eyes.she put her memory down …
The lonely moon hangs in the skywaiting for the stars to come out and playOnce the curtain of night fallsit is a lighthouse for those lost at seaBut daylight drags …
Christmas is in three days, but we haven’t talked in months. Four months, to be exact. Ten, to be approximate. Should I count from the moment you left or the …
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