I always grew up thinking pumpkin carving was a long and difficult process that took skill and concentration. My cousin, who was close to my mom’s age, always emphasized this and so this was how…

Her stomach corseted beneath the waves of fabric, a wrinkle folded in and out like an envelope encasing her abdomen. The sun filtered through the screens around us, as if embalming everyone to their wicker…

The wood was cracking, like a piece of jute unwinding. Bowing in the center, searing the newcomers, its veins of rot were covered in globbed brown paint and now were tombs for bugs. Dead ferns…

After Pimone Triplett This morning I sat awake trying to unlearn your sounds. This time, I’d vow to leave behind your metaphors, moments of language and fault, the disjointed angles only your looks can imprint…