TagPoetry

My grandpa didn’t live past seven / and my grandmother didn’t, either, / so I don’t believe
in that pseudoscience anymore. / “Cells die and are replaced every seven years” / feels a lot like a way / to diminish death. […]

the girl with the black rimmed glasses and red leather skirt waves at me. it is a ritual done every friday at approximately nine forty-five in the morning when the children have filled their cubby holes and business men with pinstripe suits have been seated […]

I am the apartheid in a tube.
minting money off your reservoir of melanin, blithe bleach like bullets until you slow-bleed brown.
Or quieter – like a virus
infecting Indian society’s opinion until they believe they are hostages of their own skin. […]

most of all, i remember the running […]

in meek tribute to those martyred for সত্য, স্বাধীনতা, এবং মুক্ত মন; truth, liberty, and the free mind […]

The man leading
the blonde through the bar
by the small of her back,
the one humming
Paper Moon soft in her left ear,
he’s a madman […]

Sappho, under your coarse feet / the pricking splinters bite […]

Cotton and candy / Candy and chocolate / […]

My grandmother slept / in an alcove in her living room wall, / early-century façade solidified amidst the war […]

We pulled off the highway / because I didn’t know how to turn / the windshield wipers on in my grandpa’s truck[…]

dollop of sour cream […]

What you don’t know doesn’t hurt you / But what you won’t know always will […]