Ebion Again, Upside Down
There’s a stretch of trees I walk through, and every time it’s dark, I see Ebion passing by above. Pushing an upturned walker (he calls...
On Growing Older
My parents always whispered that thunder was God bowling, but I wasn’t raised religious. Now, I pray for things like whisky, and bruises...
The Art of Passion
Ask about the aching, and I will tell you about greenhouse glass, how our dreams tick at the cracks of panes. You said it would be this...
Nafkot is Too Young to Vote
She is her own brown, the shade that boasts “I’m a hundred and twenty pounds of dark chocolate.” She dances for the high school team with...
Angst and Headaches: What the Heck is Poetry?
It’s the type of writing most people in literature classes despise analyzing. Why? Because it’s confusing, and there’s all this old-timey...
Suitcases
I pack my ghosts in suitcases before climbing the train. The red one with the wheels, that’s where his hands have lived since the time...