Tag: Poetry

…the ring // is what has / been doing all // the work these / days—gravity, // hydroponics, bed / making, bills.

I hold my words captive in the tunnels to keep silent company to the abducted / . / We have need of them and they us never-ending / . / If I rip off my muzzle, spit out the gag, will that be enough to give them back their freedom?

Once a week / like for drama class / I come / to you. / Nothing happens, / Silence plays / all the roles.

grief gripping my temple like a loaded gun

In the middle of this, I also left behind / my mother, forty-six years old, / still menstruating, still falling in love, / her long hair gathered in a sloppy hair pin, / making family dinners

“Go, go to Auschwitz. / Maybe you’ll get a few poems out of it. “