Mother Talks Back to the Monster Tonight, I dressed my son in astronaut pajamas, kissed his forehead and tucked him in. I turned on his night-light and looked for you in the closet and under the bed. I told him you were nowhere to be found, but I could smell your breath, your musty fur….
Read More

Leaving Is A Playground Is Not Love  It is the indecision of a seesaw. The wood chips. You told me never again live in  tender. The wood has grain as if I could engrave. For you a monkey bar. For me  straw and light. For you the scurry of an ant. The sky spreads out…
Read More