Picture ||| Storm Cellar Magazine

I still have that naked picture of you on my phone.  I look at it all the time.  It helps me remember. When I babysit the neighbor’s kids, and we’re at the park, I look at the naked picture of … Continued

The House Wren ||| Solstice

It was a Sunday morning in late May, toward the end of the warbler migration. We had just come in from a bird walk at the cemetery in Cambridge. We hadn’t seen many birds, because I was unable to get … Continued

I Leave ||| Blackbird

& the sky breaks into gray carnations after 120 days of drought, while the quartz sand rolls over itself imitating a wave. I leave & the mountains are wrinkled & soft like a brown paper bag that carries a sweating … Continued

Apocalypse City ||| Brevity Magazine

It’s a friend’s birthday and her house is packed, so I settle into a seat on the porch across from a guy I just met. He’s late-twenties, in a beige button-up, cargo shorts and flip flops, with a paunch and … Continued

After ||| TriQuarterly

The girls in the parking lot behind the Chevron have just smoked their first cigarettes, and were not clumsy at it. Each one assumed she would be: that she would fumble with the lighter, struggle just to get the tip … Continued

Mother’s Foxes ||| Radar Poetry

On days when I am sullen, I think of them: fox of envy, hollow fox with black punched eyes. Skittering fox skirting the road, fingers-in-the-pie fox, egg-stealing fox licking thin black lips to red? Pretty little doll-fox. Fox of bad … Continued

Marla ||| Ninth Letter

All night Monday night I was dreaming about my teeth falling out, and then when I woke up on Tuesday there were eight dead bumblebees on my windowsill. And at first, I was like: oh, that’s an omen. I should … Continued

The Putin Resurrections ||| Gulf Stream

I’d heard the rumor that Putin was bringing people’s fathers back to life. It seemed the stuff of urban myth, some superhero lore cooked up by Putin and his minions to incite awe. Then I got a notice to appear … Continued

Bluff ||| THRUSH Poetry Journal

It’s a familiar script, a gull’s attention to wind, gray petal, feather-slammed, accustomed to bullying, not me, I turn my back on it, claim this pool room’s lit pasture, its geography of Bells, and contemplate the erosions, a house inching … Continued

What Broke in the Move ||| flyway

In my favorite picture of us, we’re sitting side by side on the concrete front porch of the house where I grew up, each with an arm slung over the other’s shoulders. Both have bright red bits of yarn holding … Continued

Mussel ||| The Adirondack Review

Not muscle as in strong, but mussel as in the blue-black stone that opens to orange flesh. Axel, your kindness reminds me of those moments when my brother and sister and I waited for the tide to pull low, and … Continued