We present this work in honor of the poet’s 35th birthday.

This poem is titled
sailor of the Gulf,
and if I begin to remember
it’s called tiger hand.

When I sit on the floor
thinking of the shoes I used as a little girl
it’s called grandfather of smoke,
It’s also called this
when I find a box
of Raleigh on the floor.

This poem is called the incomplete story,
it’s called returning, the gift of memory.

When I hear the seagull cry
this poem is called blue boat,
it’s called uprooting press mill.

When I think of the future
this poem is called the invincible past,
it’s called knowing myself through your stories.

This poem has a thousand faces
and when I come across it, it tells me,
“There is no fire that burns more than distance”

And the memory sinks its hand in my burning heart.