Wailing for Basra

Wailing for Basra

I hear you brothers. I hear you sisters. of Basra. I hear your wailing criesover your children dying of cancer,over your dead rivers, over your charcoal                                                                    skies that send the sun scurrying away         ...
Burning Low

Burning Low

“The water” crawls down the length of your arm, and as always, you reach to sweep it off, only to see nothing. “But it feels wet and cold running down my skin,” so you tell Iorfa, your great grandson, “only I cannot stop it.” Iorfa...
Tlaltecuhtli

Tlaltecuhtli

Rent apart by two serpents to create the world, her body became the earth and sky, hair, the trees and flowers; springs and fountains flowed from her eyes – humanity expelled with a grimace from her haunches: Only the blood of men could appease her for what she...
Walking Up Scafell Pike with My Father

Walking Up Scafell Pike with My Father

After walking a few yards you breathe like someone who has slipped across the border. I am ahead, you are far behind. There are no rest stops on this rocky path to the summit, no hedgerows to distract our lack of common interests or silences broken up with ums and...