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Poems

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  • A Girl Who Doesn’t Believe in Myths & I Have No One With Whom I Can Spit Toothpaste At Turns Into The Sink

    we went to the prophetess

  • Three Poems

    Typos   Word instead of wood but, sodden, it smoked when it burned. I wrote god for good who was, once–– in my childhood years, crowned with the nimbus of that capital G–– but now tends to be a placeholder for nightmare, tears. Seeking solace in the pastoral, but grove came out as grave and the lymph nodes, irradiated, naked

  • The Unmet Lover

    Once I saw you in a freight elevator

  • Ophelia

    Where stars sleep on the calm black waters,

  • A Demitasse of Extinction

    So funny how that uncanny, unfunny man sought you out on a rainy day in Istanbul—you were in earshot of the bazaar and smoking a hookah, and, of course, it was Ramadan.

  • Transfer

    Now they tell us

  • Widow

    You cannot consider yourself a widow just because the full moon has gone

  • Portrait | The Traveler

    Recollections of my infancy: a patio in Seville,

  • Half the Time

    In an emergency

  • Mid-March

    If, when I sit here in my study

  • Busy bees | Torture

    I like being around people who believe

  • Three Poems

    There, roots are