My feet are cold. They remind me of that one week in Iowa. I look at my feet. I don’t like to think about that week in Iowa. It was not a good week in Iowa. I keep looking at my feet. They are covered in cotton—frayed and tubed. I can feel every inch of me forgetting...
Photo by City of Albuquerque / CC BY-NC 2.0 I saw a man shapeshift into a coyote. It happened at the part of the trail that bends closest to the river, you know, by the burned clearing with the white tree trunk and everyone’s initials in ash. The man squatted naked in...
My parents were into birding. When they came to Arizona to visit me, we would always stop at the Gilbert Riparian Preserve to see what birds were there. I fell in love with the place, so went there on my own too. People fish in the front pond. Unfortunately, they can...
Photo: aceshot1 / Shutterstock.com Gardens, more glitter than greenery. South Street sermonof wishes made, coins tossed into the chromium chasm. Hallowed be the absinthe-tinted bottles, bicycle wheelsunmoving and tile trails, each piece a mosaicked religion we worship...
Photo: KMarsh / Shutterstock.com You named me after three tombstones in Laurel Hill Cemetery. Your freckled hand on your swollen belly, your light gray eyes scanning the marble and granite slabs. You were running out of time. You said it was the touch of cinnamon in...
“Bicentennial moon tree marker” by David Victor is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0 Washington Square Park, Philadelphia This used to be a Night Marketfor body parts (spectral physiciansstill pick through piles of criminals under the Moon Tree). We sit abovethousands...
