Aviary
Milling about before the clinic
opened for a routine blood test,
I walked through a flurry of parakeets,
ducking as they swooped to feed
on blueberries & sunflower seeds,
& …
Milling about before the clinic
opened for a routine blood test,
I walked through a flurry of parakeets,
ducking as they swooped to feed
on blueberries & sunflower seeds,
& …
The fusty pinstriped suit jackets of larger men
are sagging the racks. Stretch full length in one until
your ears surge and still your fingertips won’t reach
out of the …
Cats own the breakwater rocks of Cádiz. This has been decreed – or has grown up as a consequence of cats deciding it and congregating there: Cats own …
for the stolen water, lands, and lives of Hawaiʻi, and especially those of Lahaina
to divert, to steal, to hoard,
to pollute, to contaminate
to leak fuel into
to …
Editorial Note: This poem twins a Māori legend of the pīwakawaka (New Zealand fantail) with an Irish myth concerning Diarmuid (son of Donn), and …
Glowing cross red neon perched
like a robin on the church roof vaulted
made of stone thick tresses of ivy
spill from it afternoon light scatters broken
images of the Virgin …
My dad’s letter sways the mailbox slant.
His name, reduced to a number, weighs
heavy, loosens the red plastic flag
from its hinge.
Prison is a war …
I.
My mother’s nightly ritual: sitting
on the floor in front of the hallway
mirror, a wet comb, the right
amount of hair. She ropes
a plastic pink curler
The wind grows furious as the grounds
around my house sicken. My neighbor’s
been pointing at a tree bordering our
properties with a gash down its trunk.
All I …
i.
she brought an island’s worth of family to the states, her eye beaconed the promised land of mammon, and we came. when her dementia was really bad she worried she …
The lower my estrogen dips, the more young
men (in their delicate, whole-body certainty
that shatters like that, like ice calved off a glacier)
grow downright adorable. …
Name a song further away than that.
Green-throated Carib,
Crested Honeykeeper.
I’m sitting in the post office parking lot
listening to the back-up beep
of a mail truck, this sheet
of sunstruck …