Aubade in the Boneyard
my father died bending like a dog under the November cloud unlike the stories we were told about grief as […]
my father died bending like a dog under the November cloud unlike the stories we were told about grief as […]
In sooth, I know not why I am so sad, It wearies me, you say it wearies you. But how
If your borders could talk, they would tell you the meaning of chasing home: distance is a figurine of
ekùn, økø òkè—tiger, the mountain’s groom—from Yoruba the boy with the crow skin comes from a long line of tigers
The gravedigger sits on the backhoe smoking a cigarette. It’s quiet beneath the trees that partially hide him from the
Brian Sonia-Wallace | @rentpoet rentpoet I think this might be the best thing I wrote this weekend. A woman approached