when i was a child i’d mistake her for my mother …..or my mother for her in the roundness of her face circular cheeks forever youthful black wire horsehair artist’s …
Category:
Poetry
I play with the fire of my own truth. I will burn for the things I love. from Mahabharata I was won by a man wielding a bow. Then a …
We need to move, you, me, the dog. We need to go somewhere, a small house with more space. Somewhere where this life cannot get to us. The dog will …
Some days you wake up and realize that it has been over a decade since you last hugged your mother and you see her every day. There’s a canyon between …
My manicurist tells me she left her country because she sought a better life. Now she makes people pretty for a living. I watch her draw little flowers on my …
He tries so hard to prove himself— Through every syllable, every word, he enunciates slowly, Pursuing excellence, perfection but, the words refuse to cooperate with his work. And so, he …
Tired, so tired, held up by fraying strings, she’d drag us through throngs at sales. We’d shrivel, she’d fume. “Service! I need service!” Clerks could never shush her. At restaurants, …
At the grade eight dance, they find you hiding behind folded lunch tables, seize your hands and feet, drag you across the floor like a mop. On the dance floor, …
Have you ever had those dreams you know, those carbon-dark sorts of dreams? Where monsters and men made of the same fabric move in and out of each other, amorphic? …
Our new L-shaped house embraced a pool as its heart, a curving figure eight, turquoise shimmer mirroring turquoise clapboard. My father’s pristine pride May through September. He’d skim off leaves, …