Poetry

Live it / On Haunting

at the witching hour, I grieve for the alternative life my mother never lived

Reflections on the Oceans Before It Tries To Swallow Me Whole

i think back to the iridescence of the reefs under this part of the sea

Generational Trauma

You’re never alone when you look in the mirror.

Nhà Home

I’ve come to think of “home” as something that begins but cannot end with family.

Rituals of the Damned

Remember when we used to go to the Popeyes in Arlington after the cemetery and split a family combo?

Reverse Travelogue

My mother cannot find her old home.