Call It God and Move On

I am at home the first time my mind lets itself outside my body without asking and no matter how frantic my hands get they cannot stop my brain from breaking the lock. My mom has been on a low dose of Celexa for five years—“just to keep things under control”—and she holds my hands… Read More Call It God and Move On


charm and balls: all a man has, all a man can want.   that rat bastard Adam can land a lass, that rascal’s award: that gal as a martyr.   a thrall. that man’s tyranny, that gal’s warm hand.   any braggart’s talk (all balls) can grandstand. call at dawn   man’s wrath drawls past… Read More mask


A dozen paper windmills spin in winter, jabbed into the dry ground, untouched by the snowfall hanging heavy on the tent. In faded blues and golds, the circus rises alone.   Between the white cloth walls, children run and I follow. Our portraits hang in the folds, Victorian and dead-eyed. Perhaps we have already died,… Read More Carnival

grey’s anatomy playing in the backroom of a carniceria

when i was 10 years old, my friends and i would play a game as we waited in the cafeteria line for lunch. curving the length   of our fingers into a cul-de-sac, we, hooking them to our waists, would ration our fat. the bones in our pointer and thumb were solid enough to become… Read More grey’s anatomy playing in the backroom of a carniceria

Sestina for Maman

My maman used to work in Hershey, Pennsylvania, as a resident in sneakers and scrubs, wondering what she abandoned to arrive with such hopefulness on this shore. The winds here are chocolate-   smelling, the sweetness of chocolate comes in from the factory, sickens her work. But maman must shore herself up. Tonight she leaves… Read More Sestina for Maman

Ode to Lavoe

Héctor1, orador de la gente, caedor de noveno pisos. My mind fast forwards & rewinds, the whirring of a vhs to your last performance. This song, the final note a supposed extension of yourself, a vibrato composed of your multitudes . . .   I didn’t understand how a body could hang suspended between the… Read More Ode to Lavoe

Birth Control

I. Every fifth Sunday, I go to the pharmacy and wait for the nice man in the white coat to get me my birth control. I do this every fifth Sunday because even though it’s ready by Tuesday, I ignore all the CVS courtesy calls and forget to go until I’m out of pills. Every… Read More Birth Control


From William Blake’s “The Rose” and the Collages of Helen Adam   take her petals now, slowly. hold them in your mouth and feel how they yield, melt, twist into insects. some witchcraft cradles you talons first.   some chord within her loses its tune. the rose petals cracked and bore fruit a dark secret… Read More Sickness

I Can Hear It Shining

I can’t hold the music, but the lines Before me open like a brightened window To a world where quick shimmers Flash like fish, glints of growing gleams, Limbered, swell and swing and begin to spin, and dark shades hum steadfast and steady. I can hear flutes sing from wrinkled verdant perches, Cut with thrilled… Read More I Can Hear It Shining


I would like to be the sleep that finds you before dawn fallen into me. I wish you could go to sleep as others do with thoughts of only morning in the fabric of your mind. I would like to be that comfortable around you with all the history your memory could knit. I would… Read More Aubade