Imagined Confessions and the Crumbs of Everyday Godhood

Ducts

Ducts It is better for my mother to cry over the poems I’m driven to write than that which drives me to write poems.

The Medinah

salty *dhikr floods my face hands now too heavy for sin shape them into broken bowls forgive me for all I’ve been — *remembrance of […]

26 December

And maybe that’s why it’s called Boxing day. They put him in one and took him away. All wrapped up in camphored ribbon, calico-strung ready […]