Poems from AnaiaMaitri
There is a raking
a scraping
in clearing away
be it darkness
or debris
a clawing at
that which endangers
suffocating
obfuscating
before we...
The hike to the waterfall
multiplied
my fear of falling by
my fear of passing out from exhaustion.
The hills climbed like
terra cotta...
“Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.”
- attributed to Teresa of...
Today, I am
the dark coolness of Gram’s
mobile home, smelling
of oiled wood paneling,
butterscotch candies, and
crayons
I am
bubble...