i wait each year for the warmth of soup bowls by Hamnah Kahn
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, … Read morei wait each year for the warmth of soup bowls by Hamnah Kahn