I sat at the coffee shop, sipping on a dark roast, leg bouncing up and down on the stool, looking
“East and West”
Where does the East end
And the West begin?
Is there a marker there?
“turn ur location on”
“existence in repentance”
father, look upon us and forgive us for our sins
save your daughters from damnation and show us to light
I greet my neighbors in the street.
I come from a place where you speak to people, and your salutation is a
I dreamt that I was
walking. The dusty
smell of desert
struck me. Then I heard
the sound of trumpets
from another ridge, the looping,
pure-note tuning that
“Ms. Auften! Ms. Auften! Ma’am, please, stop! Ma’am…” His voice trailed off as the last erratic wave of breath escaped his lungs.
Morning: the hour of pearl. Time
stops, examines itself, exhales a
sweeping fog, and wakes us. Rooms
This poem will appear in my final project for the poetry writing workshop Comparative Literature 50, taught by Jocelyn Saidenberg.
Ghost Town, 2017.
Street Beggar, 2017.
A reflection written at Stimson Beach, Ca
A poem using words inspired by 3 Summers by Lisa Robertson
Inspired by "Rainbow Connection" by Sleeping At Last
As you gaze at the arch, the inky blackness enchants you, the muted reflection becomes an ethereal haunting, and the red curves begin to elongate and gain depth. You find yourself facing a portal into the void.
The only compliment my roommate ever paid me was, unsurprisingly, a backhanded one.