Like ghosts of lands once stolen from ashes dust the thresholds of new beginnings — the end of what was that which we never knew to be still. __ Featured Image via Lenny Miles
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All articles filed in Hokis
Hokis {n., /hō/kēs/ Armenian for “my soul“} Founder & Senior Editor of Headline Poetry & Press, a regular contributor to Reclamation Magazine, and a contributor to WomaWords Literary Press - supporting their Daughters of the Earth Project. Her upcoming collection "OnBecoming: Aesthetic Evolution of this Rising Ancestor," is set to release in the fall of 2020. You can find more about her and links to her published works by visiting hokis.blog.
Familiar, Familial Border
When do unattended-to childhood patterns Turn away from shame and Toward intentional tools of destruction Requiring only a whispered demand to be handed the bleeding heart’s supply They count on your sadness to Fill their bottomless cup of gladness And before you know it You’ve been punched in the eye Swallowing excuses, like in generations…
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Ancestral Rise
I never really bought into the mythical “falling” into love. I believe in the mystical “rising” into love. The fairy dust of ancestral work. The initial dopamine seed hooks into dirt. The slow growth of oxytocin filled fibrous roots. Beauty grows, oxygen rises in the breath of The never-ending kiss of Heaven and Earth. We…
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My Own Sugar Daddy, My Own Pimp
Some sex workers Are independent, self-employed Negotiating the game With the forgotten, or unenjoyed Wide lens teaches Wisdom settles into bed “Every partnership has its jail” Beneath the sheets, this soul does not shed It wins them no money Instead a kind of sustenance Sugar-coated power, control An energy here, in abundance Emotional currency Not…
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Lopsided Truth
truth shifts to trust with one required base pair reassignment. … trutH; drop the grand Hoax shush the lies to self and other sink back into your primordial slime reorganize, safely within your self-made cocoon. truSt; add the ultimate Sacrifice to give up who you are emerge with naked wings exposed trusting-self to know, who…
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PISTOLS, STAMENS, AND SPIKES
“The only way is to hug the cactus.” Her inebriated lips casually spill over his black denim-ed lap. “I guess this means you must hug me,” he speaks. “With each puncture, you will learn to breathe. My intent is not to hurt you.” {I am certain he seeks to not collapse into breath} She hears…
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A Sapling’s Tears
I carry an anthology in today’s everything bag. I pull it out while waiting for the next thing: coffee, the nurse to call me in, the bus to come, the sky to fall. Reading it exponentiates shared stories, raising internal voices, outing me into the crowd, the transport, the enshrined clouds. I find myself glancing…
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Silent Breakfast To Go
Whiskey sour. Whiskey sweet. Wisk her heart. Beat her Eggs into an om Lette her devour it From a thirstless hunger. You know best, After all. And yet, She knows enough Not to run on An empty storm Ache. __ photo by samane mohammadi on unsplash. om, n., a mystic syllable, considered the most sacred mantra in Hinduism and Tibetan…
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TICKLING CATASTROPHE
image from 1944 film Gaslight, starring Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer, source: “What Does Gaslight Even Mean?“ __ can I stop by?I need a needle and thread to sew on a button. can I stop by? I need your advice. I stepped in. I had to.can you believe he would hit is own mother? can I…
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