ekphrastic under a bombed-out sky
I can’t abide happy art, not when the air hanging over my people is smoke-dusted, bomb-clouded, gray with phosphorus & miasmic with rot.
A Funeral Within My Soul
Think of how I dodged death before,/ but death is a persistent player/ never losing in hide-and-seek.
On Ending Our Unofficial Hiatus, & Affirming Our Humanity
Today, we resume Flash Fridays after a nearly four month hiatus. We reject our previous shame, and affirm our humanity as witnesses.
AFTER WE WATCH ROAD FOOD I CONSIDER PLACE
There are so many lives I have not let myself live, restless, paradoxical, tripping instead into the imaginations of others. Corrupted. Cruel. I wonder about the life stolen from me. Would I love what I love if I loved it from Palestine?