un soneto para mi pueblo   escrito en inglés  “when you stand up too fast and start seeing your ancestors.”  – jalain page,  january 9th, 2022.  INT.  a young woman sits on the carpet with the intricate pattern. her eyes are screwed shut, her legs criss cross applesauce – you know, the way they taught you how to sit in elementary. she wears what most young ladies wear in this day and age – a cropped, oversized white t-shirt, jean shorts, and black socks.  beaded earrings adorn her,...

thick room of tension  it could be cut with a plastic butter knife  that’s how abundant it is.  my eyes avert themselves from the glare of the sun those yellow, jaundiced eyes,  looking in my soul precisely.  intensity intensifies in the room that we occupy while the consideration of taking myself out of this equation dances through my mind.

glass glass isn’t sincere;  sure, it’s clear,  it’s as breathtaking as kashmir,  but it jeers,  it’s damage is cold and precise like a spear, and it’s bound to hit you, no matter where you steer.  it has already got to me,  slicing the faint skin o’ my soul,  the shards know their position,  to rob, to abduct –  they take everything except my ambitions.   i’m left with that,  for what?  well, glass is a reflection after all…  so is my ambitions all i have to offer?  the glass did leave me...