your days
slip into words
you weave them
wind them
spread them
arrange them
like books on a shelf
(in the order of reading)
you invoke them
smudge them
crush them
dissolve them
(until the water runs gray)
to equivocate the past
at least one,
i wish
you'd unconsciously pick
for me
-
on what life meant to make out of faith
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Mamu touched my hair the other day and said: This is not the hair of the girl I birthed. What did you do to your hair? I touched my hair, im... -
i cannot imagine how you put up with a man who drags you by your nape and tells you to go to your room and puts you out in the night. it...
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