Jericho Brown once said every metaphor is a vehicle and a tenor,bringing you somewhere you did not know to go. Looking out the window down sun-dressed boulevards, the radio a soft purras the sand comes into view,I find myself out there in the light. Here, I imagine building a home by my hands, plank by […]
i don’t want to read anything in the news / i don’t want to care about another crisis is a nearby country / i don’t want to hear about the latest and greatest / i don’t want to be told, wow, we have it good don’t we / i don’t want a sermon on my […]
For I I want, and I want. I have learnt of your body, and the way she co-exists with mine. My tongue, my pesky mind. My over eager hand, my overthink. Even now I dream of home ownership, and then some. Maybe marriage?Maybe a distant vision, like a neighbour’s cat clawing at a window.Or that […]
So it goes, most of the time; the page turns and withers away. Those dreamsI’ve brushed past in my youth – where did they go? Into the drawer of a dusty office, into somebody’s waiting hand. I have not written, truly, in months. Where did I keep the key, where did I fall from, where […]
Can’t draw ink from an empty well.Can’t speak when I mean nothing.Don’t, then. Eyes rolling like heads,teeth clenched shut like iron girders,I live through life, distant. The futureis already here. She takes up too much space and now I don’t know how to write anymore. Nothingflows when you’ve dug deep enough.It’s time to get your […]
I pen my thoughts about picking up writing, continuing to write from a place of vulnerability, and what ramifications it might have for my work as a writer, as well as its impact on my loved ones and I. I also think about a path forward, although I cannot guarantee that I can take it.
For I. Under the warm pillowy cover of night my hand stirs and reaches for yours. If we kept sleeping this way, limb to limb, our palms the interchange of our veins, our quiet thoughts; or the ones that scream at us every day, as we walk by doing nothing but existing; or thosethat bark […]
After “footnotes on falling” by Joshua Ip. Written for the #StayHomeStayLit2020 campaign.
These thoughts whisk themselves in the bowl of my skull: a quiet righteousness, pacing restless in its room, its hands grabbing ontonothing; how my tongue is slowlycurling backwards onto itself; my voice falling into the pit of my throat. There is so much I can do little about that I wish I were God. I […]
In recent months I have beenabandoned by sadness. Moreaccurately, I have left her behind. No more the plucking of leavesfrom her overgrown crown, herlaurel of memory. She would not let me go – a root, tangled aroundan arm. My fingers planted in the bark. As a trade, I had to cut off my tongue, toss […]