A bitter taste
an after taste
He wants me to swallow
He holds my mouth open with Popsicle sticks
Over and over he examines it
A Place for Truth Tellers
Genetics dictate we are a 50/50 split of our parents, and researchers have identified various cycles that continue from one generation to the next. But how similar are we really to our parents and how do we become our own person–and what loop will we become in the chain of familial tradition?
Fig Trees
By Margery Hannah
I want to be the red dot beaming
on canvas bleached
The Son I am to ears
bright of faces without teeth
The Tupac of despair, the Pryor
of fears laughing
at tears dried by Martin’s dream