My mind is a graveyard where voices go to sleep. How do I tell you I am barren today?If satisfaction was not bought with a few clicks,I would have sailed too, like Odyssey and spit on his grave,named myself the only Queen of Ithaca. Haven’t I travelled to worlds far beyond?Haven’t I seen God in…
Ends of February “But, I’ve locked the door,โ mothers shout. “This heat is a slitacross the skin!” They tie their hair up in a bun and talk about womenwho brought them flowers day out and day in. In spring, you and I squat on the terrace and dig away in silence.At our heel sticks the…