by Jennifer Militello | Mar 14, 2019
Lake Natron after Nick Brandt Your love’s thermal waters, kept from sun for ten thousand years. Others heal, but I am the gilded head of Minerva...
by Jennifer Militello | Aug 15, 2015
genetics/the cell/reproduction/asexual When I glue the hybrid, its sound makes a memory like bones or like a pyre for all the oceans one can feel. Its zipper stills. It becomes a place. Accidently, it becomes a place. I ask its many heads to promise. I ask its many...
by Jennifer Militello | Jul 30, 2013
I remember visiting the Boston Museum of Science as a child and stumbling on a long lit case into which was affixed a room-length, finger-width crust of sand, a rod of sand that lightning had passed through and melted to glass. A shape hollowed out by the sheer power...
by Jennifer Militello | Feb 26, 2013
Home is the no I thought I knew before I’d mistaken it for water. Its darks parch strangely in my roots. Its gray sky grieves and is an opium for grieving. Is a lullaby. Is very soft. Bankrupts me of my bitter mouths. Home is the lost veins singing. Transcript of all...
