Slack bodied, we saunter doughy streets prop us up hungover guiris summer is the air: thick like slicing through tortilla.

If family is chosen I know you won’t choose me.

Under curated light, each piece aligned, each flaw made right.

Vedha’s dad checked the cuffs of his light blue, pure polyester shirt and, satisfied, was ready to tear himself from the mirror and go to work.

Ben is a lanky, tow-headed lad whose family arrived in this small Pacific Northwest town in the fall of 1941 as an infant, with his seven older siblings standing on the running boards, clinging to the sides of the rickety Model A pick up their parents had bartered for by picking peaches and apples the previous summer in Eastern Washington.

Girl with a void Nothing to gain, all to lose

I seek silence, the stillness of water, objects in rows and the day I’m caught up.

My heart is dwelling between the fullness of my hips.

Pain arrived, urgent, deep in bone.

Strident is my soul Siamese twin of tamed curls

It all begins with the light falling on the wood.

The hardest thing I’ve had to do is consider abandoning you.

Someday, I wish to tell you about my days and my dreams. Of my nights and my nightmares.

The elevator doors slid open, flooding Eloise with the mindscapes of its three passengers.

Have you ever tried red baked apples with custard cream inside? You can eat them cold, and they are delicious. My mom used to make them when I was a little kid.

When I met Shawna she was recovering from a brain injury.

The ball park was like a concrete kettle, but this day it held the cold wind of late October.

I am wanton pain

You who walk beneath Father Sun on a cloudless day,