Where are we going, Kapitän? / I must record it in my diary. / I must report it to the authorities. / I must tell them that I fear you / are leading us into obscurity— / and that the Medizin isn’t working.

On the edges of my memory, I see images of the / past echoing in the coals in the fireplace and / vanishing into curling smoke up the chimney

nostalgia lovers haunting antique stores, / picking and choosing from the past’s gorgeous splendor

I promised me / prawns / in Paris / not tomato soup / art is worth queuing / as long as there’s enough sunflower oil

While Momma works magic, I close my eyes and pretend. Pretend my skin is three shades lighter. What would I look like? Would I have blue eyes? Green? Hazel? For once, something other than the muddied brown. Maybe I would look just like Sara and her twin. Maybe I’d look like everyone else. Sometimes I get tired of being the one who stands out.

somewhere in this deep blue desert i see the waves break / the words silenced as they‘re leaving