The Last Photo with My Father

At the threshold of the sitting room
On the only stair that separates the door and the floor
The device snapped

The father, his amaranth red bubu
The son, his navy blue
The earth, its ocher twilight
And two flowers on the right

A door opens into the darkness
To the left

Between my father and me
Physical contact never meant affection

It’s sacred to touch the other
For him
Touch serves three verbs
To pray. To heal. To magnify.

In the last photo with my father
His hand on my back
Was therefore …

We Are Part of Those Who Keep Wake

We will keep wake up until the boundaries of insomnia
We will not sleep
We will pluck out the eyes of drowsiness
We will pull the bed away from naive …

Quarantine Won’t Be Forever, but Pandemic Humor Is Timeless  | Zocalo Public Square • Arizona State University • Smithsonian

Quarantine Won’t Be Forever, but Pandemic Humor Is Timeless 

A Century Before TikToks and Memes, the 1918 Flu Inspired Rhyming Poetry and Skeptical Satire

Early in the coronavirus pandemic, as society shut down and social distancing became the new norm, user-created media content about life during the pandemic exploded. Today’s technology makes it easy …

Defend the Eastside

The 5, the 101, the 10
Suavecito for President
A funeral procession out of City Terrace
No ICE on the overpass
Just a shot on the countertop
Next to hot …


When I love another person, after I close the circle I say, “I know that things are not always all the way one way.” This is an idealized tenderness. That …

How Billy Collins Breathes Light Into the Post-9/11 Darkness

Like Robert Frost Before Him, the Former Poet Laureate Strikes Dissonant Chords That Surprise the American Public

Is there any poet like Robert Frost today? Billy Collins comes close. Unlike so many poets—but very much like Frost—Collins writes work that sells. He was given the title …