452 Readings | 3 Ratings
Your breasts are too small, and your face is too flat, and your legs are too hairy, and your smell is too smelly, and you need lotion, you need hair lotion, and you need light and truth. You are too you.
Every evening she watches the sunset. / Her hair done up in chopsticks. / In her oak chair she opens the screen / Tulip bathrobe flutters, amber…
Honey ran down the stained-glass window / of the mausoleum. / It tasted sweet, like pomegranates. / / The tomb was silent / and pregnant as…
it started off good, but then got weird,…
We pumped our fists low and near our sides, almost like we were dancing in wheelchairs. / / Purses, drinks, coats and hats and keys and shirts…
Every Falling Leaf
I worry about the birds — these birds, / singing here in this tree, whose names / I do not know, who best, I think, be / heading south…
More by Robert Moura
When I was eight years of age I lived near a forest of evergreens, Their needles strewn across the grounds, / And rocks like headboards…
Whether she knew or not / I had three wishes for her. / / The first was to replace / Those opal bones / And birch skin / With dyes from…
My name is Jonah and I work for food. / Today and tomorrow / We walk across fertile streets / To pick summer squash. / / When you pick the…
Last year we saw something, a ring around her eye. At first we did nothing, found some excuse, a watersport. But it grew darker and hurt her more....
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