In Memory Of

  It’s that moment of teetering before ground meets head, shards fly, an internal air raid, sirens. Silent seconds before tornado. No looking back to what was hidden in dirt, or painted grass raking jagged nails through hair, eyes closed through breezes, they open. Wide fields of corn and cows eating corn. Was it soybeans?… Continue Reading


Afternoon on a Lake

We wrote poems in cigarette smoke, or sex as it ran down the side of a boat intertwined in water from a dammed-up lake, forced to exist.   Ash singed the pages, humid moonlight that burned our hands until we could not touch. drops hit the glass surface, coerced water rippled.   Debris floated in… Continue Reading


Once, I Was Asked Why I Stayed (#1)

The necklace around my neck hands or curse words slipping   across a Pine-Sol floor I should’ve cleaned better                                     like dishes   slamming against a wall the muzzle chilling my temple an empty freezer expired chipped paint over a patched hole  


More Updates

OMGeeeez, I don’t pay enough attention to my website, or blogging. Recently, it’s seemed as though the plague descended upon me and no amount of antibiotics will treat it. Whining aside, I wish I had an excuse for not keeping my site updated. If you follow my Facebook or Instagram, you’re aware that in addition… Continue Reading


Childhood, Fragments

My first memory was my dog dragging a dead rat into my bedroom. Mom walked in I played with my limp toy. Its polished eye watched, she scolded the pup. Showered, I sat on dusty carpet and listened; the owl clock above the sink. Her cracked hands washed green dishes while the metal walls of our trailer trickled… Continue Reading


As a Child, Words Hurt Worse Than Being Hit

    I could still walk into that house and smell leather, the sweet odor cracked into peach wall paper that closed in on my body until I vomited fields of soy beans. Outside of the rows, I’d pick wild berries. An almanac cautioned about Indian strawberries– I feared that as the juice dripped down my… Continue Reading


A Sunday Drive Through Kansas

  The road was a flat sheet, a Nascar announcer’s voice between waves of static. Corn, shriveled from unseasonable drought, I waved at the oil wells we passed and counted them through the window   crunched with brown grass as I laid in a ditch, among fields of broken glass and found the station wagon,… Continue Reading