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My nana did not bathe in the tin tub her family used, not did her vocal cords capture the air so she could speak the language of love. She pref..

There is some flamboyant secrecy beneath the under-curl of an umbrella, and my breasts. I decided to rid my skin of its dry shadow so I turned ..

tie your own hands together and repeat after me: the little piggy did not find its way home Burned glass and broken tongues-- we all fall do..

You're looking at yourself through tinted glass; you're not aware that summer's passed. Shivering in a mini skirt, you tighten your hug and th..

She cremated her voice and sprinkled the soft ash on the frozen pond behind her grandparent's farmhouse. Bare trees, wooden bones, watched her ..

Your family immigrated from Poland to Saint Joseph, Michigan (USA) as you entered second grade. We shared the same Lincoln Elementary school, the ..

I imitate mirrored corners to understand the movement of speech. Vowels taste like grapes and oranges; they rot before I break the skin with my sa..

There are fifty leaves left on the tree that's rooted in my October heart. They tremble when I breathe and whisper when I speak. As a child, ..

I am laced with broken wires that spark just beneath my skin--they burn little black stars amidst my charred freckles and my speech is electrica..

For Mr. and Mrs. Garrison Wall, August 4th, 2012 4Love is patient, love is kind. We all must pass through the valley of winter at least a few tim..