anak ko
past mahal / dressed in the garments / of two pronouns.
Cooking without meat has forced me to be creative in the kitchen and expanded the confines of my world.
My two years of sobriety were gone in less than the length of a song.
For a long time, I believed you had to keep these records. I knew so little about who I was and what I wanted.
Just as I was reaching the peak of my abilities—and as the pandemic began—I left professional ballet behind, before ever giving my dreams a proper try.
The email some anonymous stranger had sent to my boss was an agonizing reminder of how I lived, the choices I made, and the priorities I held close.
Their judgment is clear every time, and my aunt is the only one who is bold enough to say it with her chest: I am a bad mom.
The past two years have solidified my view that America may never change enough for me.
I stopped wearing pants in the name of physical comfort, with the emotionally uncomfortable result that I now present as a woman who wears dresses all the time.
I was agitated by the sensation that saying yes to everything and no to nothing, rising to the occasion, going above and beyond, was supposed to be the worthiest thing about me.
recently I signed a contract / which stipulates anything / I conceive of as a result / of the job belongs to the job
When I got up before anyone else / I took the heavy clams from the fridge / and put them in a bowl of cool water.
Niina Pollari reads the title poem from her new collection published by Soft Skull Press
When I got better I ate / attention, the praise for being alive. There is no praise now. A needle, / a sharp’s box, yellow asking me to slow down.
everything shifts as she twists and spins her hair, lifting it to chignon. / So self-assured, as if the gesture were always hers
your lonely ain’t alone if it’s waiting for him
at night, when i’m outside and / the wind shakes the chimes, it sounds like the bell
Everything is an elegy these days, all chipped rings, / clipped wings.