Alien

Firstborn in the U.S. to a Persian father who escaped the Iranian Revolution and an Andalusian mother, migration takes on a much larger meaning than simply moving from one place to another. It means movement from sensing to the page, traveling from one breath to the next, followed by a cascade of negative space where thought gathers.
This series of poems moves nonlinearly, much like my experience of time, grief, love, illness, and death. My relationship to memory is unpredictable—fogged by physical and mental hauntings, and many rounds of chemotherapy.
My connection to body, breath, song, and movement becomes a thread, weaving together my here and now. In this threading, there are multiple entry points—some with longer pathways than others—but I often get caught in the cracks of my recalling, in the slippage between inside voices and outside observation.
These poems become a mode of remembering, of connecting—filling cracks and glitches with reverie, or perhaps using reverie as a way to play with the glitch itself.

36 pages, 5.4 x 8.3 inches.