Updated: Nov 1, 2022
Carving the memories of you into poetry.
Yellow paper
with blue lines.
Chicken scratch handwriting.
Big wet blobs
where tears hit like a rainstorm,
crashing against the letters.
Uncrossing the t’s,
smudging the i’s.
Shaking hands crease the poem;
fold it carefully.
Paper airplane.
Hoping the thought of you would vanish,
carried away by the wind.
A block of ice rests like a sleeping beast within my chest cavity, reeling. It froze over slowly and threatened to break under fingers that split me like ice skates. A thick knock against an iron gate
There is a theory from mankind that multiple universes exist; that with every thought we make, we create entire worlds; that we have lived every life in existence. Oh, what a comfort this is. To know
Every year we fly through the sky to Minneapolis, my parents and I. We watch the baggage claim belt spin round and round like the tire of an overturned tank. I wait for our black bag to win the wrestl
