April 12, 2016

 

Tan hands, whiter between grandmotherly creases,

curve to brush away the hair she cut years earlier,

her hands tipped with mauve fingernails—

          painted the same color

          as when she was last happy.

Her fingers wrap aro...

February 23, 2016

At the hilltop church, my grandmother’s alto
lilted through the propped windows, her smoky praise 
mixing with campfires and lake water.
My family’s open-air sanctuary had no doors 
to keep anyone inside, not even 
the God they were summoning 
with grape juice and tamb...

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