it has become harder to breathe on this continent that is not my own, when I try to speak, all that comes out is the sweet perfume of small white stars jasmine vines encapsulate my lungs— it is not my space to grow here
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Roots
as the façade slips away, shaking off the loose soil, you stand. scraping the dirt built up beneath unkempt nails, you were once comfortable here. memories fray like strings: tendrils now tiny threads thin and frail. carve a hole from sand. construct a dusty semblance of home. from sediment and rock, snakes replace the insects…
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