Not Blue, But Black She spent childhood afternoons at the bathroom sink, hand washing and wringing, cutting her twelve- year molars on hunger for certainty. Riddled by compulsive tics, her feet encased in depressive concrete, she survived with pills and... Continue Reading →
Cusp of Autumn We feast on ripe watermelon slices as the hardwood floors of the old house rot beneath us, and barn cats— feral until it comes time for begging— circle the front porch. I wear my favorite dress, the... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 