Sometimes I feel like a goddess with many hands . . . except human. One hand is amber-gloved, dripping with honey, and two constantly shoo the flies. Two hands […]
Read MoreIN Spring 2019
Because she lives alone and my hands reach where hers can’t, she asks of me this favor. It is narrow and soft, my mother’s back. When I massage in […]
Read MoreIn the morning my eyes look thirsty like a willow leaning toward its reflection. My mother waits inside the circles. One day I will remember her at her […]
Read MoreIN Spring 2017