Art Photography Poetry like


My late husband took this photograph in Oaxaca in 2006. I marked it up.

My listening is brittle but I know you

Saw the smallest things. While I couldn’t see one leaf. I grew big things in my head and I burned them down.

I was small in your dream and I dove into your glass of Coca Cola to do the backstroke.

To balance on a spoon, to wear lungs on our back, to center on a pinpoint deep inside while falling from great lengths.

After you left, you helped us do those things.


I write abecedarian sequences

One reply on “Small”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s