questions – callie daniels-howell

For K

Here you are, a nine-year-old sex worker in the walmart parking lot. Here you are, in a sequined red shirt — flimsy, translucent, bare-ly hiding the chest you aren’t old enough to grow. Here you are, nine years old. You are nine years old. Once, in that sheltered place, bumbling through heart and soul onContinueContinue reading “For K”

What of mournings

I wrote this poem on September 8, 2015, six days after Aylan Kurdi died during his family’s flight across the Aegean Sea, and photos of his body opened the world’s eyes, sparking ‘this suffering must stop’ statements:

What of mournings

Do you think he was afraid?

Or maybe…

The Privilege To Call This An Adventure

The large bus is careening and weaving, whipping over the twisting, compact roads. Occasionally, another bus barrels around a corner and down a hill from the opposite direction, and both vehicles are made to slow so that they might peacefully pass the other, only some four or five inches between the two, squeezed against theContinueContinue reading “The Privilege To Call This An Adventure”