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...