Two miles into
the sky, the snow
builds a mountain
unto itself.
Some drifts can be
thirty feet high.
Picture a house.
Then bury it.
[…]
Read the full poem here.
Two miles into
the sky, the snow
builds a mountain
unto itself.
Some drifts can be
thirty feet high.
Picture a house.
Then bury it.
[…]
Read the full poem here.
Listen here.
My name, Camille, means witness at the sacrifice.
What could I make of this when I was young? What sacrifice?
Coastal breeze and jacaranda trees when I was young.
When we moved, the hope of temperate weather was one sacrifice.
Keep reading here.
Let me tell you, America, this one last thing.
I will never be finished dreaming about you.