Monthly Archives: October 2015


I remember my mother
cradling me in her crimson wings
which are most vivid today
as she wears a dress
not unlike in colour.
My mother, she is a phoenix
I have always been her child
and she’d bend over me
her tears would heal me
but the back gets broken
the bones crack
the skin falls off
the phoenix, she
crumbles into ashes
and is born once again
And aren’t these ashes I see now?
Waiting for something to grow back.
A hue of crimson burns bright in them.


Pebbles and Shells.

I dabble my feet in the oceans
of science and literature
and I’m climbing up these giant marble statues
to look over their shoulders;
of Newton
of this mind forever voyaging
of this boy playing on the seashore
and looking out to undiscovered oceans.
Of Mary Shelley
of a nineteen year-old genius
who perhaps didn’t know
what she’d written
the legacy of it.
I look out to these pasts
and I struggle to comprehend
the enormity, or tactlessness
of these thoughts.
And ellipsism
a helpless contemplation
of the randomness
and unknowability of history
seizes me.
I’m the boy on the shore.
Did I pick up a pebble?