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Tag Archives: Cindy Song
I think this space too grand to call it home or even life— even a weaving constant, pulsing underside of a stomach. There are no breaks in lines— only the kind that rips arteries apart with steel claws, bites capital … Continue reading
Here’s to the girls who bite secrets off bitter blues ends & stamp their wounds into the dirt. Girls who run fingernails down a back like peeling the skin off a yellow fruit. There is a hollow somewhere in the … Continue reading
this is how time moves: pill bottles rolling up wooden tables, rain running down thin glass like it’s chasing itself. oranges on windowsills casting shadows long & rounded, breathing colors dark & sleepy like Death— something sad / something fading. … Continue reading
there’s a word in another language that means the maternal sorrow reflected in the moon’s image on dark water: mangata. i sift through stacks & stacks of newspaper clippings to find your name but the heavens are often callous with … Continue reading