Imaginary Friends
With some reservation, you can swear off the clutch of voices, but remember
to look both ways before crossing each soirée of memory—
like the...
Mother’s Hands
Sometimes
I would pinch the top of her hand
and then mine
quickly, watch her skin drift
back to place while mine
snapped.
I’d poke and press the purple
vein...
Smoke
In first grade the sisters told us
of Cain and Abel heaping their fires,
hoping the smoke would make God
smile. Abel’s rose, but Cain’s
hugged the ground...
