A Song for Many Mothers

For the village of strong women that raised me. I am indebted, always.

I will always need another body to follow through the fog
another voice to cut through the darkness
a thousand more tongues to set alight when our syllables
become knives
more fingernails to watch collect ink and stone as they claw their way home Continue reading

Advertisements

Eight-een

I am eight years old when my father takes me on a ghost hunting tour
and I do not sleep for weeks afterwards.
My mind cannot shake the spectres on my dreams –
they have embedded themselves into the bricks that built the city
and pave the streets Continue reading