Scene: 12 by Beth Cortez-Neavel Mom doesn’t know I know what it tastes like now. It tastes forbidden. It tastes…
Proper Grammar by Beth Cortez-Neavel You said to me once that you didn't like poetry. Music rearranges space and time,…
Living Unitarian Universalist by Beth Cortez-Neavel This is how it begins, every time: whether I am at a potluck, a…
Sex Like Space By Beth Cortez-Neavel I am floating in a constant orgasm I am come, and I am going…
To Have and To Hold By Beth Cortez-Neavel I want to be there in the past to hold your hand…
7 a.m. By Beth Cortez-Neavel Cities abiotic concrete-filtered sunlight hitting traffic jams through sky scrapers’ grids Barely a sidewalk without…
Clouded Luminance By Beth Cortez-Neavel In the night moon’s glow the corners of the world are tucked in and folded…
Bloom By Beth Cortez-Neavel It is spring now and averaging 40 degrees Fahrenheit a week. The skies stay gray and…
I Have Still to Wash My Sheets By Beth Cortez-Neavel I jump at the chance to be touched now. I…
Ghost of Notes By Beth Cortez-Neavel a song like butterflies unfolds across the page like caterpillars the notes slip between…