Havana Club
I thought I lost myself But tonight In this red-lit bar Full of soft chairs and soft spoken people And music to dance to in the background Named after the Havana Club I’m myself again And I sip my French 75 And I find myself.
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November Second
I hear her quiet laughter echoing through the carnation-pink walls of her room, always brief and barely audible. I notice it because it is rare to see the curving lines of a smile extend slowly across her round, weary face. Her face was never smooth porcelain skin. It was wrinkled like the rest of her […]
MoreA poem by Warsan Shire
Give your daughters difficult names. Give your daughters names that command the full use of tongue. My name makes you want to tell me the truth. My name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right.
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