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Tag Archives: Kimberly Sailor
smoke in the neighborhood always hangs north of your house gray braided with amber what are you burning that spins such elegance and funk? growing up with an eccentric mother means I use light to find home because cigarettes, fires, … Continue reading
I still park on my side of the garage. Your clothes, my clothes, still mixed, extra blueberries in the batter, for you, and mail with your name? Check the ledge. They served ham and chicken wings after your funeral. is … Continue reading
The other grandmother who lives past the big highway asks me to cut off her scab with scissors: the pair she uses to trim chicken fat for Sunday Soup in the good kettle. I have knelt before her so often, … Continue reading
sat in Ziploc too long green leaves turning yellow, brown in cloudy, smelly water atop the perfect quartz countertop we saved to buy to improve our place, our life with flash and progress while the plant died you slammed doors … Continue reading
“The gladioli are late this year,” I tell the sidewalk, the shrubs, no one and everyone who is listening, who already observed a mother who drank herself to death, who never met her granddaughters with pinkish hues suffused across their … Continue reading
“I want a mouth transplant.” From the left-behind baby teeth and too-large tongue it all feels cramped; misaligned; unsuitable for chewing, swallowing. And saying regrettable things that cannot fit back inside Dreamily she doodles oversized O-mouths on hinge-jaw, pelican-style yappers … Continue reading
pins us to a sky we cannot grab or squeeze or smash why affix us above water anyway because of salt, squids, and submarines the way we compress pain bundle grief into: -Categories- that year / that time before we … Continue reading
Today, we are so gone that damned near everything feels new and isn’t that why we save to leave? isn’t that the real tour: escaping? Isla Isabela, in the Galápagos, is very far away. When we awoke to spoiled oranges … Continue reading
tufted earth rings the harbor town where farmers play heart strings in 6-beat time after their wool is tucked in to meadows and barns in a tidy town of fragile hydrangeas contrasting with coarse beaches I find a jellyfish still … Continue reading