The newborn sleeps through coffee grinder and vacuum, because the inside of a uterus is a train station under water, all thrum and whoosh and beat and rumble. Nine months is long enough to hang art on the walls and justify the nail holes. Long enough to know: I live here, this is mine, this is home…
Read MoreI once stood in a book store and opened a book of poetry by a woman I used to call friend. I opened her book to a poem about me. I saw I was in the poem because it began something like: “I broke a friend’s heart once and I’d do it again.”
Read Moreonce upon a go fuck yourself: no girl bodies terrorized here. if that’s what you’re here for,
if that’s what you’re hard and wanting for i know the language you wish i’d give you
that story is over.
Nadine knew she should be questioning her eyesight, her hearing, or even her mental stability, but she felt only an unquenchable desire to peer into a mirror, side by side with the Other Nadine. Was that really how she looked?
Read MoreMy entire adult life has been about being intentionally vulnerable in hopes of getting better; that vulnerability is an invitation to meet me in my art to connect and find shared experience…
Read MoreThe land is taking back its voice. The grass
is a green scream. Dew is licking up
your leg with verdant tongue.
