Ghost Teeth, by Dena Rash Guzman

My dead and buried speak from the memorial cards inside my white Bible. They command through their ghost teeth, "Again." Grace! There is no again. The leaves turn red and turn gold. I go old, writing softly, pulling down inky words like snuff spit into great-grandma's tin can.   Dena Rash Guzman is a Vegas […] ↓ Read the rest of this entry...