I pass the feeder and yell, Grackle party! And then an hour later I yell, Mourning dove afterparty! (I call the feeder the party and the seed on the ground the afterparty.) I am getting so good at watching that...
You’ve never seen a lilac in Mississippi. Backstage you wear lotion laced with its chemical imitation. A ballet mistress says relevé always as command: lift onto the toe using only the heel. Your ankle’s bewilderment old as the horned owl gaze from your mother hunched in the...
And here I am, a lonely woman on the threshold of a cold season at the dawn of realizing earth’s sullied existence and the sky's blue despair and the impotence of these hands made of cement.
Time passed. Time passed and the clock struck four times. Four times. Today...
I don’t know why most mexicans in my hood wore nike cortez’s– why the breakers in my crew polished ‘em daily, as if a little spit could salvage our childhoods– why we all know cortez’s are best for c-walking, gang shit, sick moves thrust upon an opponent’s pride– why we thought by...
Rinsing the sea salt out of our bikinis with the drinking water and getting a slap upside the head from your mother with her House & Garden magazine reserved especially for fanning away mosquitoes and sighing because we know that this is how it’s always going...
A woman leans against a man who leans against a brick wall watching cars stop like dead men on this one-way street. Some dude glares like O-Dog from Menace, his face towards some street we'll never remember where a man...