Monthly Archives: February 2015

Dear Mother, from Exile

“Where’s the first fold?” “I think it’s here.” “Here?” “Yes.” The map is folded skillfully before my unskillful words leave an awkward residue on the table where your long, thin fingers place the map. My small, but muscular hands shake, … Continue reading

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Your red shoes, my tin heart

As if the sky is made of glass almost beautiful it falls, the way tragedy is sometimes beautiful in pictures. Your face in the frame is still, beyond the opalescent dome of my heart chakra. Each shimmering shard of glass … Continue reading

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