Capsized boat, like a quarter moon floating in cerulean clouds, a wooden frown in wavering waters. Night-colored hair breaks the surface, head thrown back hungrily drinking in air. Help me, you croak, voice drenched, wet hands frantically wiping stinging droplets from bloodshot eyes. I step back, chased by water lapping at my feet, and fear that paralyzes rational thought. I can’t swim.  

A sickly green withers on the bare ground, more weeds than grass, more dirt than weeds, fruitless fruit tress planted by once little hands. A faded red block of concrete separates dead nature from the dead residence, chipped beige paint and a worn-out screen door that groans when pushed by wind. A metal shed houses rusty tools and rotting wood. An olive green clothes line bows under the weight of the sun’s rays. An undersized grapefruit tree peels away with time, beaten by storms ...

Grey twigs sprout from her head, replacing the silvery streamers and black silk like hair I recall from an album of crumbling pictures. The ocean waves once rooted on her face, wrinkles whispering of a ripened life, have all crashed and rested, leaving a sea of sand, unmoving and lifeless. Her thin strips of lips remind of melon rinds, pale and rough, begging for a drop of water, hugging a swollen white tongue that pokes out like a flag in surrender. She surrenders to the drum beat of her u...

Café is the smell of my family and my cup, cold in my hands, lulls me to a place where I can hear them sneaking between shouts of Español and their broken whispers of English, gossiping about newly divorced tias and my 80-something grandfather who has illegitimate children in three countries. Not allowed at the grown-up table, I sat with my sisters, all of us staring as they savored every drop of coffee and scandal, gently nudging us away saying we were too young to ha...

how can I be happy at 6 o’clock in the not quite morning, with no sun or sky only clouds hovering above, sliding freely to the ground below. As if my heart drew a portrait, the world awoke in mire. On a rainy freeway, I see myself echoed in drops of constant motion, not sure if I want to be high or down, or lower, not sure if I want to puddle where it's simple or dance with the wind. My spirits cannot be lifted under the burden of a cloud burst, my indecision is not quieted in ...