I’ve never been sentimentalabout items. But people: they are my memories. I kept the clutter tokeep the people but after years, every corner of my
I often try to soften Jesus—he who claims he came to set the world ablaze, set like flint, burning, burning,bearing a sword, a whip of
I read the A-frame on the curb as I passedand pictured the rainbow array of mistakesfrom every indistinguishable kind of whiteto the shade too much
Rubied roses and splattered wine, spilling sunsets, bruises, burns, fired iron and ancient rust, edge of danger, passionate love— Gentle yeses and offered palms, tight
Is faith set and certainor is it alive and changing (or is that me)?On one hand, I hold onto adogma that has been passed on,outlawed,
for Sheryl Grossman The first time doctors tried to call it off,I was still being knitted, and a dropped stitch on one of my geneslooked
for JH & TI.Took about a minuteto sift through what terminationwould mean: one less childin the broken, breaking system. A few more minutesto feel out
Her color is beautiful. No need to go intowood or food similes about it—her melaninneeds no reference, no testimonial. Her 4c hair and eyes that
