waiting to be known snow is heaped  against the cutting line of trees.  the leftover crescent moon hangs in the sky,  waiting to hide itself, yet waiting to be known.
 i think of that ever-living  fragility hidden  in the whiteness of our bones,  that is to be human.  Genevieve Hartman is a Korean American poet…

i wait each year for the warmth of soup bowls such is a morning that the cold glass of water beside me feels too far to reach out to.  the birds flutter their blue and black feathered wings  on the windows, an old song i wake up to.  i want to unearth a simple morning,…

In Space They Can’t Hear Your Love How I wished to be an asteroid in their orbit And fall out of it onto the terrain of their body, But I am never a star for them to look up and wish upon. No, I am the dark matter always there, but never seen. They have…

Bravery of Brown Bodies Pt. 1 There’s a certain bravery to two brown bodies  I think  as your fingertips find long-forgotten scars  trace imprints of history  caress babysmooth tomorrow  a particular courage  to lie  intertwined  on elephant ivory sheets  it’s a specific beauty  seeing my molasses brown black eyes reflected back in your own  Here …

Canines.  There’s this picture of James Baldwin and Nina Simone, he has his arm  around  her, and is smiling with all his teeth. James has huge long teeth.  He is holding his friend, his Nina, as if to say there  will be no use for this turmoil of living if not  for friendships and happiness…

Egypt is pleading for the rosetta stone to be returned  It was the way they spoke, screaming in storms that created a space for me in times I felt inarticulate. My tongue tied by years of repeated ideas, “Miss”, and being portrayed as bossy. I was a mouth that held a thousand strangled tongues my…

50/50  The line down the center of my body marks the territories between the oppressed and the oppressor. This thin line I walk, is as treacherous as it is sweet. One moment brings  an abundance of joy in the shape of Black bodies and shea butter with a twist of sunshine and the color orange.…

Even if I peeled off my skin and revealed the porcelain white Skeleton that lives inside of me, I think my pelvic bone would give me away. I would’ve moved the mountain on my chest but the bones would be too smooth. Too delicate. My frame is not massive enough. They would call me “Skeleton…

There Will Be Blood They play until dusk, until the dirt on their clothes  can hardly be seen in the dim evening glow, you know, the time when the sky is a perfect sheet of cobalt  and there are no stars, only the pale glimmering eye of the moon, only the fireflies, close enough to…