Gnashing Teeth Publishing

I remember dressing up as Salvador Dali for a Carnival parade at school somewhere between 2009 and the end of my teenage years.   My young face, rounder than it

Grief is the silence that burdens the sound — one house, two homes two minds, the bones of all that hurts and remains.   The moon is hung with echoes

Standing in the checkout line, I waved hello, but I didn’t recognize you. Once amicable, previously approachable, you were not there.   Disturbed, but not surprised, I recalled hints of

I stutter out children’s verses in my Grandparents’ tongue strung on genealogical trees, the curses of sins of fathers and wars, cremated kins of history floating in a sea of

It’s travelling to my heart and the diagnosis, it doesn’t look good It’s melting into my veins and the prognosis, it doesn’t look good I crawled my way to Saint