Browse Topics
Childhood
A Conversation with My Father
You could make things up that actually felt more like truth, somehow. You could build a world so precise that other people started to believe it, too. And if you didn’t believe the things my dad said, he’d find a way to make you.
April 2026
Pockets
Shoplifting cigarettes, running the pool table, creating a “pocket prairie”
March 2026
Selected Poems
It all reminds me of that moment when you take off your sunglasses / after a long drive and realize it’s earlier / and lighter out than you had accounted for.
March 2026
Butt-Dials
“How are you?” Janice asks her brother, because what do you say to someone you didn’t choose to call except the same thing you say to everyone?
February 2026
I Got You
“I’m your brother,” the man says, then swallows. He is tall and burly with deep-set blue eyes and thinning hair. He wipes his nose on his flannel sleeve and forks some coleslaw from a plastic container.
February 2026
Unruly
I’m rebellious, defiant, so I’m sent to the barn, driven there by my newly single mom, or my newly single dad, or my grandparents, or someone else. Another parent told my mom I should try horseback riding. Ice-skating and tae kwon do and ceramics didn’t stick, but I can already tell I’m a horse girl.
February 2026
Sleeping Children
What was happening in and to Gaza was not really about democracy at all—or any kind of universal, God-given values. It was simply about power.
February 2026
Lasciare Stare
My father took a puff from his Camel / and dispatched his message / in smoky cursive, Lasciare stare, / then said it again softly
February 2026The Eulogy I Didn’t Give (V)
Are you writing his eulogy in advance? Are you afraid / to sleep at night? Afraid your bones are planning / their escape? And what do you mean by love?
February 2026
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