Tag Archives: John Andrews

The busy tone telephone                                           three in the morning,                            with you asleep at the other end.    Ceiling full of stars.                   That scene in the bathroom with your too red face             all of high school,    another letter where you fake cursive             say: … Continue reading →

you said it was orange like the flavored fruit marshmallows grandpas share as treats but that orange gets powdery on your hands and looks more like a dreamsicle than sun light saying adieu for the day no it’s more like … Continue reading →

            for my grandfather when his clothes were divided like the Hmong women bury the placenta of their children I took his jacket every soul has to return to coat check before leaving this earth so they can wear something on … Continue reading →

I am sorry. We’ll never get a high school                                                    prom, first kiss.    I bought that boutonnière                         for you, but gave it to—    Flowers die everyday, so do young boys who fall                            in love with wrists,             the way you held a … Continue reading →