I find myself clinging still. Over and over overdreaming that soft dream where i grow, to somethingbeautiful, become something hazy & wild.

She cradles a two-year-old in the arch of her hip,holds rooti cut into small bite-sized pieces in the other,looks over nonchalantly at the four potson the stove behind her and

The fruits never taste as good as they do back home. Grapes here are a little too sour, a little too soft. Figs are always too big and dry, the

Lately I’ve been feeling just a little bit witchy,lighting candles by my window at night.Catch a flame, cast a shadow, and enchantedly whisperincantations to the flickering light.

I imagine the fibres in my muscles tearing, each little strand being pulled apart like pieces of string. I clench my teeth at every jostle, the books in my arms

A news report lit up the dark living room. “Tonight, ordinary citizens and students alike join the movement that has involved so many young people of today.” Somewhere, a clock chimed nine

The tram carries me at midnight It holds my secrets for me

"Here alone with all these people/ With one distinct similarity/ But somehow overwhelmingly different"

How is certainty supposed to feel? Michael Di Iorio ponders the uncertainty of his future in this heart-wrenching poem.

I’m compiling a list. I want to ask the woman beside me in a black plastic cape, “What’s worse than a hairdressing appointment?”