The Fire
In the cooling air of the lingering dusk, the flames from the fire-pit clawed higher The steps to the wood-rack, heavy and slow, retrieving more fuel for the pyre Each log, as it’s placed, sends bright sparks in the…
Performance Poetry: An Interview with Rawa Majdi
You perceive one of your unique hidden talents, something that you’re extremely passionate about and really good at from within yourself, work on it in order to improve yourself and share it with somebody else who has got the exact…
I am the war she talks about
We don’t talk about our dark days. Of all earth’s lush night plant life, you choose to call the girl with war in her mouth and bullets for dialect by a flower’s name. I am your love language with petals…