poem: outside of the internet it is May

rain comes on days when i am in a hurry, but in some other lifei will stop and watch the glass melt. the squat green trees and the pinebushes, melting into smaller parameters. the rain sound like lo-fi likea tin roof turned inward, and a thousand nails -- clattering clatteringclattering. but it is soft, like…

poem: girlhood in fantasy

the spring is too flat here; there are no grand peaks in the clouds, no witches asleep over grey moors, their brooms spliced out into moss and heather. these are meant to be the wailing times and yet when I stand outside, I hear nothing. there should be the tromping of boots as my sister…