Mist
i. I say, I come from an island I am touched by salt, separated by straits, embraced by streams of motorcycle engines revving into side streets, the names of which I can no longer read. In Taiwan, we say the sun is going down a mountain when it sets. I have always known the […]
Daffodils
My mother chose clothes toned in pastel and soft wool sheared of pink and brown. Something wrong with her shalwar kameez- she could tell her identity wasn’t for the 9-5, so she hid it in a button-down. Professional, kempt, clean. Adapting to an alien rhythm- monotony isn’t so hard.
The Amman I know
the Amman I know, wakes up early in the summer stretching out her feet as the adhan sounds. streets remain silent bas the scraping of sweepers and the corner bakery rolling up its shutters. slowly, the city awakens with the honks of taxis and squeaky carts of ka’ak bread, she stirs as the national
As you lay dying, in a language I barely knew
As you lay dying, you coughed up worm-strings of words in a language I barely knew. Smooth platefuls of sound, slipping like the silver-butter of moonlight on a pond. Ephemeral. If I cannot conjugate (I cannot) – I die, you die, she would die, too, – how can I feel the rough edges of [&he
Weaverbirds
We used to climb the thorn trees when we were boys And annoy the weavers building their summer nests. I always kept my shoes on. You were older, Your footholds surer, scrambling up on palms and soles Dusted gold with pollen. You found where the birds Were at work. They were spinning dry grass into [
un-nested
moss between my fingernails following birth- marks on cracked bark un-nested bugs crawling to breathe into her mouth-less- ness melting into cheeks trickling down when my magnolia turns blue i ponder and mend forget-me-nots soft pastries my mother used to make that i stuff inside he
Giraffe
I see that today you look ever so sad, And your hands are so delicate, clasping your knees. Listen now – far, far away, by Lake Chad, A lone giraffe wanders, swaying in the breeze. God granted him poise and graceful, slow airs, And his fur is mottled with magical shapes, A pattern with [&he
Simple Truths Simply Put
“El mundo cultural que articula la obra, tan distinto en problemática, historia y estructura, resulta en este caso intraducible.” “The cultural world the work articulates, so different in its problems, history, and structure, is in this case untranslatable.” So lament the edit