Hourglass.

There’s not much literary inspiration in caring for my grandmother.  There is a lot of sadness—a lot of bittersweet hanging like cobwebs from the ceiling.  A lot of soaking up a final moment, and yet still thinking you’ll have many more to come.  But after a few months, we are now down to our last …

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oneirology

I remember the back of my uncle’s head.  The smell of the cigarette he smokes, wafting through the window.  His red neck in the driver’s seat my knees brushed up against the back.  Going somewhere, as a family. I am starting to make promises to God and placing strange things that I find upon the …

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Hide and Seek

Like water, the brothers uncles cousins now slip through my fingers.  And where they fall is someplace dark. I cannot quite see to the bottom of them.  I try to peer through all of their existence at my feet, to grasp at understanding, but my gazing comes up dry.  To really understand them, the dead …

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The Graveyard

Sometimes, I imagine what it must be like to be buried underground. When I miss my cousin terribly, I think about rolling back the grave grass like a carpet.  Like a blanket, or a sheet.  I could unbury him, and watch the ground unfurl. When I was little, I was captured by the story of …

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Sights and Scents and Dreams of California

There is Sagebrush, growing on the lining of the trail. It is medicinal in all the ways it plants its healing essence in my mind. The scent of it, smokey and wild, like cedar, rich and smooth but thick with how it clings heavy in the air. When I pluck a branch, the syrup of …

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