When I Braid My Mother’s Hair When I braid my mother’s hair she tells me about stories with her mother, telescoping through generations of care. I lace each piece of ...
Faith We stand alone: we are separated by various faiths, Around the world, in different countries, with different beliefs, A thousand my...
What are you? Poetry is what is spoken when your thoughts cease to become words. It is the sound your heart makes when a love that isn’t ephemeral, Blo...
The One Bus Stop in Southpass, Wyoming “Thank you, sir,” she quietly said to the driver as she stepped off the greyhound. The driver gave her a quick nod. “You’re gonna need so...
When the White Boy went to the Quiceñera "If you stop fidgeting, the gel might hold" "I’m not fidgeting" "Mentiras, I’ve been handling this stray of hair for the past five minute...
A Letter Of Regret Dearest Jacqueline, As you are reading this you must be wondering why I’m writing to you now, why I’m writing at all. Although we are no ...
