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I cannot choose but bear it, or I cannot choose but wear my face with me, as always.
It’s been five months since I’ve needed a morning alarm—awakening to light, not sound.
During midsummer's stickiest days, Tatay would tend his garden until the sun started to fade.
Our theme this cycle was “Nature,” and our beautifully creative authors took this in many more ways than just the “outdoors.”
Body is a word that weighs heavy on the mind tonight
as it does almost every night, tomorrow, and the day after
warm, autumnal orange
the kind that made me want
to grab my docs, and a pair of shears
and make the 26 minute drive to Chiles
to pick the perfect pumpkin
Green wraps its arms around four walls
squeezing them tight only allowing
wind’s small squeals to seep through the crevices
“Hang tight, man.”
Is what the doctor said to me before leaving to search for an ultrasound machine so they could make sure my ovaries hadn’t twisted and cut off their own blood supply.
Even as a kid, I never really liked dressing up for Halloween. It has a little to do with really hating being looked at, probably. And it has a lot to do with hating not being seen, probably.
I find cemeteries to be awkward places. I feel incredibly self-conscious in grocery stores, but a cemetery that living people are visiting is a thousand times worse, especially when you can’t find the grave you are looking for.