The forest fire outside our house
“I lie in bed and turn my head
to see your face illuminated by
the forest fire outside our house.”
Sunrise at Bryce Canyon
“You’re on the edge of a plateau overlooking a valley of hoodoos
dusted with remnants of yesterday’s snowfall.”
The last time you were drowning
“The last time you were drowning,
they came to see to you after school.”
They start the meeting with a breathing exercise.
“‘Take a deep breath in,’ their voice echoes
from a speaker above your head, ‘and out.’
When was the last time you were able to breathe deeply?”
A Time We Were
“I’ve typed half an email to you
a dozen times, desperate
as a maple reaching over a scenic byway.”
A Tsunami Advisory
“Brisk air bites your face,
which peeks out of your cocoon.
You see waves tower over the shore,
lift your tent, rip its stakes out of the ground.”
We went to see my grandfather
“A stop before a three-hour drive home.
A subject I, at fourteen, avoided.
A hospital.”
a tether loosening
“i fade in and out of the present
like a maple branch’s shadow on concrete
like the stars in a city’s sky”
Loading…
Something went wrong. Please refresh the page and/or try again.
Follow My Blog
Get new content delivered directly to your inbox.
M. Espinosa 