HIS HANDS WERE WARM
I held my grandfather’s hands, like he had held mine during my childhood despite my discomfort. My mother would bug my father about it once in a while, in a very soft manner. Father would squint his eyes and think deep. Mother would get bored and walk away.
December 19, 2019
HIS HANDS WERE WARM
I held my grandfather’s hands, like he had held mine during my childhood despite my discomfort. My mother would bug my father about it once in a while, in a very soft manner. Father would squint his eyes and think deep. Mother would get bored and walk away.
June 1, 2017
Not before the negotiator is dead
The words have left me bare, and the caged bird
January 7, 2016
A Lullaby
It's okay, You can sleep now, rest your helpless soul
May 28, 2015
Utopia
There is nothing here, in this decaying city
X