Poetry

The Armadillo

The old man told us to spend more time in graveyards and I will not I will spend more time with the armadillo because he shows me there is such a thing as un-sad

Mouse

Disney stuck an explosive in the mascot’s mouth, lit it up, then pop, smiled at his blackface in the mirror

Mermaid Camp

I’m an eel until I inhale water—then I am messy, lightheaded—like after too much laughing or kissing.

Nakba

This language tastes like songs of my sedo and before, days when land was soft beneath bare feet, before bombshells bore into ground, before bullet skins showered seeds in the dust.