August, I descend in Juneau, bleached tips, just 5’3. We breathe days in hot cocoa heat and stone crab smoke. Gray eaglets adorn street sides on our morning commute. The reverberation of broken roads. The final days of summer hang over us like deep regret as morning birds glide past with fresh white scalps. My mother acknowledges her caffeine addiction and I stop eating…
Category: Creative Writing
My Grandmother’s Response
My grandmother shouts at the rain, for she resents- the gentle pelting that echoes indefinitely, the white thunder that litters her absent sky, the wind that breathes low within the showers, the swollen clouds that hang as dark as death, the abrupt possibility of destruction. ~ My grandmother clings to the promise of sunlight, the…
On Change
My fingers were braided like splitting twine, over my open lap where the warmth burned my exposed thigh. Your lips ran like rusted propellers on your brother’s ship. You spilled tales of a hopeless time forgotten. Our eyes were constellations, like twin lights trapped in a fated pull. Dim in the sunlight and weak enough…
Mother’s Kitchen
Grey-streaked hair pinned up, loose tendrils refuse to be tamed by her undue. She glides swiftly to the stove, swaying slightly as she softly sings a Joni Mitchell song. She tends to the sweet smells that waft from the oven door. The evergreen leaves sprouting from a pot on the windowsill contrast with the cool…
Golden Dandelions 