Poetry

Taste of Irk

Bitter sweet on his red stained tongue, Photos crumble between his callused scaled fingertips. Doors divide blood, But nothing exist in his world but he so he picks up the glass and sips. Hearts rip.   Loved but hated more, Ungraceful acts can only be tolerated through acquired taste. Taste of irk, As muck fumbles …

From Saturdays

Chorizo sizzling, pans burning, oj pouring, and giggles in the hallway cars vroom vrooming, dolls talking, and Jack Johnson singing from a phone in a glass bowl That’s where I’m from. lovers dancing, kids laughing, camera snapping, and oh crap there’s smoke rising from the eggs drawers rattle, dishes clatter, food splatters, and 5 bellies …

Motherhood

Motherhood is waking up 10 times last night. It’s slobbery kisses on my eyes, nose, ears, and chin while folding onesies with yellow milk stains along the trim.   Motherhood is rubbing a sore knee to ‘sana sana colita de rana.’ It’s wiping marker stained hands and the scribbles along the hallway walls. And all …