Poetry

Poetry

Earthworm Butterly - My Type

My type? Earthworm Butterfly down to earth... but born with wings. delicate... mud-manicured fingers, manifesting earth tones out of Pantone dreams. wet clay fragility... storm withstanding wings. love(heart) like a sand-swept shore. she burrows deep... to breathe through her skin, recycles death... and rises clean. digging through

Poetry

91 Kilometres to the Volta

I travelled 91km to the Volta, on a whim— for what? Flirtatious curiosity, or a search for self? No. I think it was more. I came to see the Sun rise over the river, its light glinting like glass, creating a mirror so I could look into my own eyes.