Poetry

because today it is so pretty as the sky leaks his all goodness

A new poem by hamsa fae.

His black pajamas creaseless and slung across his protruding collarbones Brow slightly singed with sweat Uncle Ho leisurely strolls along Garden Grove with clasped hands behind his back He makes a...

I remember the first time I told her I didn’t want kids, that I could not imagine myself in that role.

Memory is impossible

From the archive, my father’s comedic song, 1+1 - Mage-llan, 2+2 - Lapu-lapu, reaches my ears.