July 1, 1985 Blue Claw, Long Island, New York How freeing it would be—how useful, how illuminating—if a fortune-teller should…
Smoke, Salt, Sweet (and other poems)
Burnt metal still stings the nostrils/
weeks later, drifts on perverse winds,/ settling into flag stripes,
Mother Tongue
Each night like clockwork, Sean’s voice lulls me to sleep. He sounds exactly like my grandmother, who was also born and raised in Belize.