Poetry

It’s been weeks since a storm like this— Paper cups are smooth, flammable, and hazardously placed in my hand. I am drunk at a party and the music is too loud. It is creeping up my spine     A static hum that rattles the bones of my inner ear, Any second now it’s going […]

I raise a glass of Aldi malbec to the patchworktapestry that threads me back to you. To learningto read in your womb and spell to the beat of ‘Back to Black’ over tarot for tea – servedat the dining table (that cornerstone of FacebookMarketplace couture) you scoured from ash to mauve-matte; c

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