It’s six and September so the sky is gilded at the edges in small leaves and slivers on the water when the boat moves off the dock. I have a book of poems in my palm and a man runs a polisher over the coffee-colored floor in gentle whirs along the window seats. Tonight the … More Cords

The Seam

She is more often not the good daughter her mother raised her to be. See the way her lips have thinned to a dry line, pulled in under teeth, a careful seam. Why does the word “eggshell” anger her so? Five swipes of paint she brushed on the bathroom wall. A row of grays because … More The Seam

The Pear

“If you’re looking for someone to lead you, it won’t be me,” she said, “For now, anyway.” And it gave him a start, so much so that he pulled back too quickly on the small knife he was using to slice bites from a pear. A thin line of blood appeared on the tip of … More The Pear

Small Birds

In the dim, rumbling bus the boy peers tiredly from beneath a wing of yellow hair. His eyes are as soft as they will ever be. The boy cranes his neck for a girl who is balanced under damp fir boughs along the highway. Her spine is as straight as it will ever be. The … More Small Birds


“The water should taste like the ocean,” Heapfuls of rough salt poured from my grandmother’s palm. She had lived for eighty years by then.  She didn’t measure anymore. A gas flame licked blue then orange beneath her own mother’s copper cooking pot. “It can’t be alone.”  Twists of gemilli fell into the boil. “What can’t be alone?”  I asked, watching the … More Salt

Third Party

She found out today… that he could very well be right about microbes in office buildings. (via NPR) that he was wrong about Justin Beiber’s monkey.     (via Twitter) that he enjoys the “Titillating Wing Combo” from the Hooter’s lunch menu.     (via Facebook check-in) that he preferred blonds, usually, but how nice to see him try something new.      (via his mother) that … More Third Party

What Makes Us?

Forgiveness. There is no poem for it. It is a strong and beautiful goodbye. Self. There is no book for it. It is a lifetime of goodbyes. Destiny. There is no plan for it. It is this. Say a beautiful hello. Inspired by Joshua Prager’s story: Was I what had been done to me? Were all of … More What Makes Us?