Artificial Moonlight
now you’re here on my new tweed sofa and my heart feels as bare as our bodies and the streetlight outside my apartment is shining on us through the window, Read More …
now you’re here on my new tweed sofa and my heart feels as bare as our bodies and the streetlight outside my apartment is shining on us through the window, Read More …
I forget my childhood. it’s not that I do not know what happened. what happened has been folded inside my dreaming and my temporal lobe a timeline of events I Read More …
“Let’s go out tonight.” The whoosh of digital wind chimes have hardly finished sounding from my iPhone’s speaker before the dot-dot-dot of your “Yes!” enters the tiny screen held in my hands. Read More …
Originally published in “Move” by The Arts Tribune (Fall 2019, volume 8, issue 1) “Agnes, come line up for class now, dear,” the woman who is not my teacher coos Read More …
If one were to briefly paraphrase Sir Thomas Wyatt’s poem, “They Flee from Me,” it may sound something like this: Those women, who once took risks to seek out my Read More …
I wrote this poem while sitting with my dad in a gluten-free cafe. Now it’s published in Watch Your Head: an anthological response to the climate crisis. Name something more Read More …
The River in Spate by Michael Donaghy (1954-2004) sweeps us both down its cold grey current. Grey now as your father was when I met you, I wake even now Read More …
In William Wordsworth’s “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood” and Samuel T. Coleridge’s “Frost at Midnight,” the poets explore themes of childhood development while considering the sublime Read More …
The women at my therapist’s office all wear lipstick. I know this because the glasses are always smeared with the remnants of the mouth that drank before, sipping in an attempt Read More …