I trace my grandfather’s hands across the atlas he never owned, each river a scar, each ridge a fist. He speaks in gestures I barely know: the curl of a …
Category:
Poetry
steam, salt, pink crabs on their backs grandpa sucks the spit through his teeth splits the belly open drinks from the shell, announces this delicacy loud enough to reach the …
The other day, my friend sent me a video. Two creators known to portray black and white swans of a coin. In the video, they cheekily look at each other, …
in the garden with you dirt, food tell me what I can eat make that funny whistle sound with a leaf on rainy days we watch the storm from the …
On the lighthouse’s narrow stairs, my mother’s hand in mine, my children steadying her back, three generations pressed together in one fragile climb. Her knees ached, the steps too steep, …
From the third row of the brightly lit conference room, I watch your feet shift back and forth while Andrew lectures next to you. Are you nervous? Your hands wind …
I do not mind ..my mother’s hair as she prepares dinner and it ends up ..flossing ..teeth, yet short, practical … with .enough responsibility ..to be genetic history, …..flitting, ……….caught. …
my dad introduced me to perseemons ‘Anak, want me to cut you perseemon?’ ‘Anak, that perseemon isn’t ripe yet’ ‘Anak, I bought 12 perseemon for cheap!’ trips to Henlong market …
“1935-August… 1000 young cherry trees are donated to [the Parks] Board by Mr. and Mrs Uyeda. These are the first in the city and will be planted-out when more mature …
a perfect storm in a summerlike August sunny afternoon the sky was suddenly covered by a giant black cloak the cloak’s invisible train tramped across the towns in the north …
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