As I stand in front of the mirror...

The psychotic thought the devil gave Jesus as he walked through the desert wasn’t a whisper in the ear.

Rise and let the pool quietly cry over your body, a buoy sobered without wind.

That is a sapling, Mother said. It cannot be your biological father. I should know. I buried the man, she said.

Mother thought we* would be identical twins. But, like zombies or vampires, we were first thought of as one, and then one plus one, and...

A haiku and poem by poet Yajayra Soria.

If lost, become a billow in a dream, a sheet hanging on the line, whipping itself back to the pins.

For a long time, Maisie loved her long hair. In fact, Maisie couldn’t grow it long enough. As a young girl, she would sit at her vanity...