justice
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Stone Soup Redux
What abundance awaits us when we refuse to let our neighbors go hungry? What freedom is on the other side when we see ourselves in the faces of strangers? What if the knocking on the door is an offer of steadfastness and community disguised as a cry for help? What if the tragedies on your… Continue reading
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You are Right to Fear Me
your children watch me daily and God forbid they learn a different way to be kind to choose themselves to honor other people ‘s autonomyand right to self-determination to find their own liberation in the fray of mistakes and lessons and grace, the soft nature of things space to figure it out what a scary… Continue reading
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Abandoned Verses from News of a Ceasefire
How do I carry you to the next expanse of silence Push these disheartened vessels towards the next markers of safety a cubic mile of sky visited only by kites and feathered friends Can you run to living at a walking pace to the home whose walls are lonely bones of a defaced promise but… Continue reading
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I Hope They Never Find You
I hope you’re safe. I hope each day tastes like justice. I hope you have space to mourn for those you’ve lost whether it’s a loved one who didn’t get a fighting chance or a future you labored for damned to debt and disease by a number crunching machine. I hope you can mourn uninterrupted… Continue reading
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What shape does erasure make of memory? What direction is the future if you amputate the past?
How far along a carpet bombing before you stop recognizing your own school, your route home, the corner store you get your morning coffee from? How shelled the concrete, how drenched in blood and screaming the walls, how altered the sky, how exposed the ordinary secrets until a structure loses its soul? How much decimation… Continue reading
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White Kites and MQ-9 Reaper Drones
One day they are standing in uncomprehending horror on the unsanitary floor of an overcrowded hospital, having recently been pulled out of the rubble that had been their home, looking up at tired strangers, desperate for familiar faces, crying for their mothers, yelling for their fathers, but their mothers and fathers can no longer hear… Continue reading
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Ten Thousand Martyred Children
are on my mind along with bus schedules I am the lady crying on the CTA challenging my seething heart to not turn away from the images of hospitals under siege, white sheets enshrouding somebody’s beloved, gaping wounds and howling, sky-tearing grief while listening to street names rationing my breaking heart into the handful of… Continue reading
Rampant & Golden 