Poetry
I woke up in a hot room in Detroit after pushing two fingers into my…
Where do I begin to introduce you to Dao Strom? Do I begin with her…
La Gitana Dormida (Un león vigila su cuaderno de sueños) La Gitana ha escrito…
What should I do with those poems I had written against running blood and…
To translate, would mean engaging an electrical circuit in his brain, bypassing his heart.…
Day Thirty Seven The mother of the child coddled her dead child in her…
It’s hard not to begin with the arresting cover image of Gabriel Jesiolowski’s As Burning…
Spirit, grow like flamboyán, a blaze blooming red. Everything red. Black and brown, mancha…
I knew. I knew. My mother gave me her bluebird of happiness. Carrying the…
I be a tender root a mere indecisive tangle that has been smashed and…