cara’s Substack | Substack

you sleep under the desert sky your face zipped in a bag, unafraid. in my room with paintings and flowers i wake a fear tornado rushing. my heart balloons i feel like dying. for comfort i think of you. ghost bats fly out of the mine shaft. the mother bat finds her baby among…

Mar 19

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something live has to be buried how deep? deep enough to hear no crying. under the sun stone i push it down.

Mar 12

i have a secret so secret it is secret even from myself and can not be told. you say you know you say we know. i look out of my face entranced by your…

Mar 5

there does not always need to be something seen to grow. i will not haul water or clear brush from the furrows. i will not dry fruit on wooden trays…

Feb 27

though i am swollen and altered under and over my skin you will still know me if we ever meet again. you are camped by stella ranges where my dried…

Feb 19

back then the silent medina was made of ochre stone. stairs led to a tiny turret. your arms waved out the window trapped.

Feb 13

i still don’t know which one you were manuka or kanuka, identical to look at one sharp one soft to touch. though my hands measured the warm air above…

Feb 6

my cheeks my breasts collapse. the pines curve up to the sky in an endless screen. the day is balm inside and outside me. sitting under the tree they…

Jan 30

cara’s Substack

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