At five years

I cannot consent to swallow your love cold— down my throat you pour, I choke. At five years we left your stranglehold. From you, my childhood was pigeonholed, left alone, you couldn’t phone despite us being kinfolk. I cannot consent…

Burial Rites

Don’t bury me in a cemetery below the pockmarked blocks that romanticize the forgotten. Bury me next to an abandoned school where memories of younger days mix with decay. Bury me next to a lighthouse wherein the dark light can…