The Kid in Mexico

15 Mar

I’m so grateful to be in this month’s edition of In Other Words: Merida, Mexico’s new-ish literary and arts magazine with a … poem called “Kid.”  This one’s all about making pretzels for breakfast, Cleveland, stolen bubbly, and grandfathers yelling through the thickness of putrid, lost generations about searing fish in a pan.

I don’t consider myself a “poet” at all, and maybe this is more of an ethereal flash fiction piece, but really I’ve stopped labeling what I write a long time ago. There are a few experimental pieces I have out there that I’m shopping around currently, that pretty  much approach the form and style of “Kid.” I wouldn’t call those poems. But in the end, I don’t really care what they’re called; as long as people identify with, at least, parts of them.



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