Before the Ruins
He fears not having enough, collects tokens as we march
onward, abandoning cities. I yearn for roots deep as my soul. We keep moving,
gathering. When the wind blows he
reaches: nothing. I am gone, stopped miles back to rest, reminding myself we
can’t take any of this with us.
Another You
The comfort comes in the ways you may expect, unraveling
fingers and mending them together with those of another, fingertips to soul,
deep yearning for, what – connection? sharing? sex? A hide and seek, a game at
play, a history being erased, rewritten.
There Is No Road From
Here
Day drops, leaving silt on the streets. She hugs the dark
road, window down, the orange tip of an already old habit between her fingers.
Just a little longer, he asks. The boy hunched in the passenger seat, collar
drawn around his lips. She drives on, will wait for him to say when.
CP
Kari
Nguyen has been, at different times in her life, a state free throw champion, a
college valedictorian, and the most awkward girl in the eighth grade. The
awkwardness continues.
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