“The world is not worthy of words”

(Mexican poet Javier Sicilia, on the murder of his son)

I hardly write in this blog anymore. I, writer, am at a loss for words. For all that I would rail at injustice, for all that we all collectively rail — nothing changes. I make art more often, and am surprised by what emerges when I blend and erase, when I intensify colors and make shapes transparent. It is new to me, and helps me express when words fail.

Below, a series I made for the organization “No More Deaths.”


I hope to get back to words — I miss them.


On learning to draw eyes

They eye is not an almond, it’s an orb, she says.
And I’ll likely never learn to draw because now
I’m not listening, I’m thinking of eye sockets
and what’s left when the juice is gone,
bones in the desert, skeletons creeping
without rattle to return to mothers, husbands.
I am thinking about a baby born in Juchitan,
caravan parents resting for a moment
in the hospital, birth a relief from the hot and pound
of flight and endless pavement.
The tear line, she says — beginners forget the tear line.
I look back at my sketch pad and I’ve drawn an almond.
The tear line, though, prominent and appropriately shaded.

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