Time is grief, something whispers in the dark. “No, grief is grief,” she whispers back, tired.
“Murmurations” in Brick 106
What happens when you create narrative out of poetry? What kind of body emerges? Where?
“Hungry, breathing: a review of Noor Naga’s Washes, Prays” in The Puritan
A sentence or story could never live outside our geographies. A poem always went back to the world, to its woods.
“Situating Racialized Ecopoetics: Memory, Geography & Community” in the Town Crier
Look, there is the blue horizon. Here, in this escaping sky.
“Border poem” with Manahil Bandukwala in Briarpatch
