This month: surviving pain through poetry, surviving the climate apocalypse through new (and ancient) narratives, surviving the present through dystopian fiction.
We are / afraid that our parents will see us one day on television: / limbs heaped over each other, syrup-drenched, becoming pixels / that flit across the screen.
This is what I want to do with my late seventies, / honor the sky, scatter stained glass on the sidewalk, // follow the path their hues take us, you beside me.
