Bodies are burning their oil lamps brightly

from the windows overlooking the church  

their silhouettes shape-shift on the bedroom walls

as they move from room to room,

neither stand still long enough for you 

to grasp who or what they are,

televisions flicker in accord

as if planned in some way, it’s strangely romantic

as if part of a passion play – and I am the only one h...

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there is a splinter in the pad of my thumb.
I don’t know how or when it happened, 
but do know where.

our house has no floors thanks to the hurricanes. 
the bottom is concrete;
it collects dust faster than we can sweep.
the top is subfloor;
we have to wear shoes inside to prevent splinters.

my little sister forgot.
one got stuck in her foot before school.
she was only getting out of ...

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