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Digging Published in ICC Anthology: The Gathering 16 (2024) I leaned too heavily on the spade, applied unneeded force believing hardpack’s what the spade would find. Except the beaten earth was just a crust—merengue that fell apart, exposing soft damp earth without a...

Facing Pages Published in Perceptions Magazine of the Arts (2024) The World Book arrived, all the volumes at once, along with a special-offer bookcase with angled shelves that tipped the world up to me. Cross-legged on the floor of my room, my mother and I unwrapped...

The Pedicure Published in Origins (October 2018) The first time I visited my mother with my fingernails buffed and painted, she sneered. Who are you? It had become my guilty pleasure— The soprano vibrato of the room. The precise sequence of things. Polishes like...

Hawk Above Main Street Published in Origins (October 2018) Up on the twentieth floor, needing to stir, to flex and stretch, I rise and pace along the glass wall, and see the red-tailed hawk that has suddenly soared into view, catching an updraft with the barest tilt...

On Seeing a Content Advisory in a Playbill Published in Existere — Journal of Arts & Literature (Spring/Summer 2022) I will give no content advisory. No “this may be upsetting, so I totally understand if you need to step out.” I will not understand. Not to flatter...

Ode to Amanda Published in Existere — Journal of Arts & Literature (Spring/Summer 2022) “Well, in the South we had so many servants. Gone, gone, gone. All vestige of gracious living! Gone completely! I wasn’t prepared for what the future brought me.” —Amanda, The...

Between Published in Soundings East (Spring 2022) My father floats between bedroom and living room. Between his chair by the rented hospital bed, bending in to her whispers, and the sofa that faces the forested backyard, watching the wild horses that are not there. He...

The Cruelest Truths Published in Ellipsis (April 2021) 1. The weather has been glorious   It is the Spring of Springs. For the first time in years, my rose leaves are plump and waxy—no rusty orange mold or papery brown tips. The buds, generous dollops of hot, blushing...

Rubin’s Vase Published in The Dos Passos Review (December 2013) I. Each in turn, we stood still as deer in the murderous lights, held our breath and braced against the beating of our hearts. Posed left, or right—mug shot style, one among us assigned to cast the shadow...

The Promises of Autumn Published in Diverse Voices Quarterly (Fall 2013) I bit into the apple knowing it would be a disappointment. It was too light in my hand to have ripened well, too sickly pale to have matured on the tree where it belonged. But I bit anyway,...