What if, when you ran your fingers along the embroidery, you could hear the voices of your ancestors? 

Weather lights a mouth as vines drink sun in windowed rooms, / but I lied before.

"Tinkering a Way, Together: An Interview with Plastivap Inventor Mirukosee Balan"

Until the fodder of the fraught mind becomes the burnable legs of a useless table, / fuel only for compassion.

Blue ash of skin between the rubble, a child’s body buried beneath concrete, these images are stitched beneath my eyelids, stuck.

Don't they warn you against the misfortune / of unveiling desiccated bones to your green / sky?

And after / one hundred twenty days, we / pinched at her stems.

you’re burning what does it taste / like when god makes mistakes

The snake bites its tail in a desperate attempt to live, does so, and dies. / But it lives again and again, the story told over and over.

The sinking feeling trailed me as I worked my way around the room: There’d been a precious opening, and I’d wasted it.

In my writing, my father is ‘Dad,’ because I need this less intimate address as a buffer from what I have lost, left behind, or perhaps never even had.

"Through the safe and tender space of the residency, I found a new approach to my art-making: writing as a gift to my reader."

"I consider myself a multi-genre writer. I will write anything—fiction, nonfiction, poetry, play—if the spirit hits."

"Lately, I have been writing about power—how it is stolen, how it’s manipulated, and what it means to fear its existence within you."

"This project is my prayer for Palestine and her people to be liberated, and for us, her wider communities, to become accomplices in her liberation."