Status Updates From When My Brother Was an Aztec

“We are at the gate, shaking the gate, climbing the gate, clanging our cups against the gate. This is no garden. This is my brother and I need a shovel to love him.”

I know that I’m about to have a delicious meal when a there’s a poem about Eve.

As seen before, it is always poetry that compels me to ignore the many waiting novels on my shelves. That seeks me out at night and offers to cradle me. It is lovely to return to Diaz’s words after some time.