the sky is frozen at dawn, masked by gray smokescreens drifting down the neighbors’ sloped rooftops and hovering between the tips of budding lemon trees. a ghost’s breath emerges from my set of parched lips, that i imagine as the hydrangea’s sweet blush rising from my neck, when i reach my fingers towards the fading […]Read More perennial spring
i. Home: sickly, sullen, desolate. it used to be the iridescence that brought me here, but the waters washed away purple sea urchins, slimy green kelp leaves, pairs of yellow seahorses. but i return again, hoping to introduce the wonders of the Great Barrier Reef to one who’s never felt the love of the ocean. […]Read More the road home
Dangles between my mom’s weathered fingers, pages unclaimed. Ticonderoga in hand Pencil to paper. I am ready, have been ready for six years. but my mind draws a blank. Learning to write is like learning To think, to entertain, to surrender— And so at eight years old, in the darkness of my bed, I lean […]Read More a notebook
Subscribe to receive updates on new posts!
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.