I gave birth to my mother
when I heard myself
tell my father
that he didn’t hold me
the way I needed him to.
Bloody remnants
remain,
they stain
the surfaces of things.
top of page
Search
Recent Posts
See Allof me, little by little little bites sinking into old wounds every time and I let her because just like the trees open their hands to the snow I do love the idea of dying slowly loved and afraid and b
160
is write little books, is what I heard the husband of a friend say once. that's all she does, all day he said and she laughed and I nodded and felt my shoulders sink and remembered her laugh as I sat
70
Bring in your dead, she said. So I dragged my lovers out of the warm cocoons of my sheets out through my crooked legs and my sweat-soaked arms and watched as they clutched not at the bed, but at their
40
bottom of page