I’m reworking “The Nightsky Often Looks Like a Mound of Feathers” and retitled the poem (I may re-use this title in a future poem). Here’s the result: A LETTER TO CALICO SKIN 1. Early on, you appeared like a curled robe on the side of a highway, like a young woman dying in the corner… Read More Rewrite
This is one of those poems that is not very good, needs a ton of editing but will not get out of my head. I imagine part of it will be useful, but for now, this is it, in its roughest form. THE NIGHTSKY OFTEN LOOKS LIKE A MOUND OF FEATHERS. 1. Ever since you… Read More Writing Process
Break open the branch. Inside– there is lime and tree foam. Like marrow. The white liquid that illuminates the skin, full of leaves and freshly-plucked strawberries. Like dawn, opening: he captures this about her in a painting, surrounds her with blood oranges, places roses around her face. The girl becomes something like a funeral, the… Read More No Skin Included.
There was a morning when she opened herself to horses— it was a sort of release, the wind and soft petals under her toes. She waited out in the field, their bodies lingering off on the horizon. They looked black against the sun, manes twisting, all muscle. She imagined their eyes, like dew and something… Read More Nights that Dreamed Her Open
