Carpool
The streets were eternal back thenback when back seat was a canopy of armsstretched out like the solsticethe thump of tire on chewed cementjolting the deviance from feeble bodiesMomma was no pilot, bu... Read more
Yusuf
trapped in a moving trainknee to knee with an archangel sun radiating off sandy complexionmanicured stubble lining jawline sharp and effortlesstaste of blood floods to my mouth Ya Khaaliq, You are the... Read more
Culture
The first time I saw Apo Tudo, The Ilocano rain deity, I swear, he sent mist to that mountain Outside of Baguio Kissing the Filipino soil with sweet promises and tearful memories My grandmother share... Read more
Duality
“Where are you from?” Usually, people don’t believe that I’m Jamaican, on account of me not having an accent, not speaking patwa—and also not being Black. They don’t generally have a probl... Read more
Every Refugee is a Poem
(1) كلُّ لاجئٍ قصيدةٌ. (2) أنا القصيدةُ: كان كاتبي على عجلٍ، فلم يضع ليَ عنواناً. تركني على مكتبِه ثم غادرَ. ... Read more
In Search of Identity
البحث عن هوية لا وطن لي أُنتزعت منّي الهوّية وهمت في رحاب الأرض بلا مرجعيّة فهلاّ آويتني؟ هلاّ كنت لي أرضاً أز... Read more
Remind Them
Colour: forever reside in my blood will keep me on holy ground colour that lived war inside of her. War: the goodbye kisses, tangible on cheek three years on nothing left to go back too. Hom... Read more
The Mosaic of Brokenness
(today) I cried, driving to the grocery store, for no reason, other than, I remembered (so when does it end?) When I am accomplished and successful, is that when I feel whole again? I desper... Read more
Two Movements
I From the terrace before six I see a train crossing, Three cars long—“That’s it?” Passing in no time at all. I linger for the evening commuter; longer, heavier, humi... Read more
The Tower
Looking down to the ground below, wind whips around my body. The gravity allures me, asking me to take the step forward, asking me to throw it all away. I am reassured; my heart gives way to apathy. T... Read more
Three Poems
Untitledmy mother is a pile of dust between two bricks unable to be condensed to a finer powder she sleeps in her ashtray next to the cigarettes that numb her I walk through the door just make a good ... Read more
It was not your fault
trigger warning for gender-based violence When it is quietand the lightsare out, I whisper“it was not your fault”I repeat itagainandagainuntilsometimesI believe it.Fake ituntilyou make itRight?Ac... Read more
The Screen is a Portal
Especially while in self-isolation, screens—whether windows or devices —have become a portal for connecting us with the world beyond our domestic walls. The screen that we choose determines how we... Read more