What's Best for the FamilyWhat's Best for the FamilyWhat's Best for the Family5 years ago in Human Trafficking Awareness More Like This
The yellow sunrise light soaring over the bleached bones of the Coliseum and the arched churches of Rome (many of the latter built with marble stripped from the former) illuminated recently-washed piazzas and opening trattorias across the city, dancing on the surface of the Tiber and not yet obscured by the smog of early morning traffic. The light reached even the cramped bedroom that Mirela shared with her younger brother Nicu, and for one brief moment the peeling ochre wallpaper shone like cathedral gold. But the glow faded as Mirela's eyes adjusted to the light. Nicu, exhausted from last night's expedition, groaned and rolled over on his pallet, pulling a worn blanket over his head. Mirela smiled at him as she swung out of bed, but her smile vanished when she stepped onto the stone floor--it must have been a damp night, because her knee buckled under her weight when she tried to stand. Biting her tongue so as not to
. . . marry him.. . . marry him.3 years ago in The Great Valentine Exchange More Like This
he will gleam like photons
tangled in sheer joy.
where i harvest dead localities,
he will sheath the touchstone nerve.
his voice will soothe great quandaries
like growling cicadas solve summer nights.
his eyes will break into blessed anointments.
his lips will pierce the frighteners
and spill their silver antidotes -
a cure for every blasphemy,
a pardon for every criminal.
remember who he was,
a mystic lisping empathy
for pure, unbottled moments,
a silence worming through bicycle wind,
a gender scribbled on a brainstorm,
the flashing of satori
in the scatter-shooting cosmos,
a wonderer, wondrous
with no guilty body,
a boy's fond familiar
who keeps a tail feather of god
stuffed in a bag of beetle legs
and cats eye marble galaxies.
i suppose i was never
the one who was meant to apron you,
to feed the thirsty virginities
that open up
beneath your womb. . .
i'm not the one to paper you
with sanctuaries and closet troves,