Making Light
Warm in the air, wet in the dirt: first rain. From my bones lifts the hurt of winter. Rain hums in the gutters, keeps time on the roof. Inside, I hum a simple tune: a garden, long days, dark dirt. I hum and the room
Category Archives: Poetry
Awake in the Night
Some small creature scurries and scampers inside the length of my bedroom wall. I don’t want to read any more about reading. I don’t want to discuss literary theory, to deconstruct deconstructionism. All I want is to free the restless mouse scurrying inside these walls.
for when i know where i’m going
in swedish hej means hello and goodbye and i can tell you five places to go for coffee in my neighborhood but i can’t tell you where i’m headed just yet, or when to say goodbye. We barrel down highway 102 with no direction in
“Ode to Lakapati”
“Lakapati, pakanin mo yaring alipin mo; huwag mong gutumin.” “Lakapati, feed thy servant; let him not hunger.” — ancient supplication, once proclaimed before
“Genetic Predisposition”
Our lovely daughter is reading a book on magical jellyfish & one on the history of the human world. She is even more kind than her brother though she’s a sore loser. Her brain’s like a falcon, the way it flashes & swoops, how fast
“Lineage”
I claim direct descent from those born from the depths of soil not the ones who fell from their thrones. Fatima Siraj is a Liberal Arts student and a part-time facilitator based in Pakistan. She conducts poetry workshops in schools to encourage young students toward
“Mother Daughter”
My mother overshares with me transferring scars through stories that do not leave a mark if my listening brings her healing should I scratch her wounds? Fatima Siraj is a Liberal Arts student and a part-time facilitator based in Pakistan. She conducts poetry workshops in
“Seventh Harvest”
The lady pitching a tent by our apple fields turned out to be the one who was almost your mother. I sensed somehow that there wasn’t yet a mold for which this particular news should reach you so I gathered a few cotton swabs and
“Ghazal for Girl”
when my mother says I am a universe in the shape of a girl it is to say I inherit her chemical tears a moon-sad girl star-blossoms sprout from my eyes perfumed black holes I swallow dark matter
“Lineage or Lullaby”
I am at a loss because I am at a doorway and it is both my door and a child. I am here and I am on my grandmother’s lap twenty years ago, and she is singing a dry creekbed, because of course she never