Poetry

I dive, peering through goggles. The artificial reef is a dark crescent, shaggy with algae, a furred shadow.

I am the Holy Ghost! You are Entangled! Mostly embarrassed of my dead father,I was below the fig,looking up, open-mouthed,following the bees feastingthe fruit to ruin, slogging through the funk lifting from the floorfrom what had fallen; it was the…

is long / please I am tired / please carry this with me / please let me bake us some bread / it won’t take long and there’s marmalade / you made on the top shelf / please / I…

Equations You make them up,the tiny alliancesbetween having kidsand having trees,between kidsin the trees andtheir handspainted intothe disappearingshape of light.You make theconnection betweena lot of hormonescoursing through you,a lot of chaos at the door.Between the fishgone limp and thechild in…

Sometimes she made keema, and Lord help you girls if it gave you brains as well— what they called results made its way to our plate. We have photographs.

Melissa says squatting in the river is like squatting behinda restaurant. Or over the toilet of a rural restroomseveral hours into a road trip. This is a moment of restwhere I must engage my core muscles. I lookat Erin unswayed…

Nights like these, the sky tips like a kicked over bucket and tens of millions of wings are stitched to the Mississippi wind’s long seam. But glass houses false stars and promises of endless flight. Then, sends dark dreams. At…

Will Bloom in Our Lacuna I’m sorry I can’t give you and oursa child, sorry the barrenness rests in my chest and notmy womb, sorry I’ve turned the earthbeneath our tree blank like a black walnut, that everyoneyou loved who…

Brown Girl Dreams of Arson Yesterday I dreamed empires are falling again. This time it was under the weight of climate reports nobody bothers to read andonline petition signed with burner accounts. I dreamed America melted like butter left too…

We Measure the Unspeakable with SeedsMy dad calls me to tell mehe has cancerthe size of a peppercorn,speaking nonchalantlyabout the diagnosisas if this informationis merely a piece of foodhe finds stuck in his teethafter speaking with doctors all day.At least…

over coffee. At least I’m good at nodding. Fishermen were paid to take the roles of morticians. Instead of shovels, a line and hook. There’s a bay into Manila that every president jones