Poetry

Please. All they had to do was ask, and their body finally listened, digging down and sprouting roots, and they felt whole.

How can I subtract you from sun? No shade of light would remain intact.

You left the light on and the door open. Authenticity blooms, rooted in the nourishment of its soil.

I wish I had left the windows open and let the crows devour you.

A mi abuelo le salían las palabras como canción,

my heart aches to write, but my brain has bent my fingers to draw on the memories of clinical words

I think it's all been for the best, even if some of it's been hard.

I dream that I am your mother instead.

I understand, but do you understand—

Mother's face is an extinction in reverse—ancestors wake up in the cant of her nose