My Poetry: Past My Quarantine Window

The black ribbon, cracked and cauterized, carries them like thirst. mouth to throat. Hungry water, they trawl strollers, dogs, bags of to-go food, flimsy face masks clutches of mail toward the mouth. They are soft as water, lifting from the skin of the ribbon in ripples, throat-thirsty, fever-flushed in the sun.            

Barrio Viejo Autumn

When you get up, the street lamps will still be lit. You will put on a jacket and socks (November to May) or not (May to November) and open your door quietly so the bell you hung there does not ring and wake the neighbors you imagine sleep as lightly as you do and who... Continue Reading →

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