I’ve run out of ways to tell you I love you, so I’ll just say this: you are the smell of the fresh mint growing between the porch steps of my grandmother’s backyard you make me feel the jitters of the first warm rain of spring, the first blizzard of December, the first leaf to
Tag: poetry
Gladioli cut curbside crop lines Compulsion, revulsion, grassy submission Plucking familiarity in silence, stalks of pink Ivy sprig of white tendrils: anxious to please Maiden chasms, I swear I saw a salmon Resentment, anger, your presence soothes me Egotism, formality, stay as sweet as you are Deception, gracious lady, will you dance with me? Amongst
she is nowhere and everywhere all at once, as inescapable as the smell of morning coffee clinging to the fabric of a well-worn sweater, lingering on the laces of dusty, mud-caked boots she seeps into life in fragments and pieces, mirror shards that offer the wrong reflection the branches of trees echo the curve of
I am awoken rays of sunlight seep inside I can breathe again morning air is swift like the icicles on trail winter’s gleaming blades the lake is so still it ripples only to touch softly glimmering I envy the pines observing the rest of us evergreen and strong ease comes quietly holding hands on a
late in new hampshire, leah teaches me to swim. “my house is your home—” the light pouring in, the window and its sunbeams: humble, open hand. breakfast pots clatter, curly hair in my omelet, a snort, laugh, and smile. a pale sky belies a hot and heavy sunlight that warms like a song. a pen,
Grandpa, I’m sorry I only visited your home in Libya twice before you left and didn’t come back. The days melted away quicker than gifted chocolate on the sticky fingers of my siblings. I’m sorry for my scarcity of memory when it comes to the details—I don’t remember how you took your coffee, what your
lust I lay on the ground, my hands under my chin. the blades of grass sway as the breeze tussles them. liberated (from my subconscious) a lightbulb; a sigh of relief. gluttony I held their face with my hands, touching their dimples. My fingers trace their chin and move down to their neck like a
I was walking across campus during Community Day and I had just picked up an Arabic quiz from Olin in which I proved to absolutely no one that I was proficient at the jussive tense and it was sunny and all these children were running around and I saw a Muslim family but I wasn’t
Nanu used to rub vaseline on my skin as a baby, gentle and tender, when I grew older, she let me dip my fingers into her favorite cold cream, and slather it all over my face—a smell I still remember. Mamoni still tells me to stay out of the sun, throws a hat on
—After José Garcia Villa Electric, fans, jolt, towards, Santo, Niño’s, bright, and, careful, eyes Listless, fish, push, through, thick, water, Gumballs, crack, in, quarterless, machines, Wedges, of, honeyed, light, Drench, an, infantry, of, SPAM, While, the, hopia, sits, patiently, in glass, cases, Waiting, Place, Iginagalaw, ang, mga, electric, fans, sa, Mga, makinang,
When I first met you, I noticed your socks above your ankles and rolled down slightly. The first word that popped into my mind: kindness The real beginning transpired out of a moment that should have been filled with pain (and it was). Then I looked into your eyes: simultaneously, I was hurt and felt
—After “Do You Speak Virgin” by Analicio Sotelo This afternoon is some hell: The sun, a proud prick, wears high-tops and catches in my eye. An egg cracks in my mind, glaire spilling over into my tear ducts. My fists clench. A sour wave springs to my stomach, acidic as an