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Tag Archives: dad
the bones of this land
i grew up on a mining claim in the mountains of central arizona. bear with me. i grew up in a nice-enough house on the poor side of a small town in the mountains of central arizona. i walked to … Continue reading →
Posted in poems, Uncategorized
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Tagged arizona, dad, death and dying, desert, love, memory
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2 Comments
the perseids fall
the perseids fall. the weather breaks, sharp heat turning to sudden wind and sometime rain. i stand at the kitchen sink, scrubbing what remains of your life. a photo of the most beautiful work your hands ever made. the thing … Continue reading →
like the light
i am almost twilight i am almost home i am cracked by a thousand birds crossing the darkening sky. you are a silhouette you are a stormcloud you are half of every strand of DNA in my body. the storm … Continue reading →