on the poetry days…

Stay tuned for forthcoming work in:

  • The Big Issue
  • Nifty Lit

My poems are sending me postcards from their travels.

Those Places We Melt Into

What does it look like out your window? Out mine this spring flurry fills the gap between trees. ::: Published in QUIBBLE LIT:::

Not Yours for Truth Seeking

Stop romanticizing fly fishing. Don’t name yourself brother to the sky’s white rattling throat. ::: Published in SCAPEGOAT REVIEW:::

Up into the Ocean

No one believes he has risen. Even the street-corner prophet stops replacing his megaphone batteries. ::: Published in THE AVENUE :::

What to Do with Poems

I serve the ones who looked like me using silver inlay plates that cannot be microwaved. ::: Published in FEVER DREAM :::


My grandfather’s fingerprints trace the pathway from the makeshift bedroom to the bathroom. ::: Published in THE AVENUE :::

Exoskeletons and Wolfpacks

Like the forest, we’re held together by web lines seen only when weight is shifted back and forth. ::: Published in FEVER DREAM :::

Sorryoholics Anonymous

My name is daughter, wife, woman and I am eroding into one reliance: sorry. ::: Published in THE AVENUE :::


It’s tiring: calling everyplace home. ::: Published in FEVER DREAM :::

Origin Story of a Divorce

I forget I was there, only five at the time. I like the story better without me in it. ::: Published in GYROSCOPE REVIEW :::

Quieting for Connection

Every story follows one of seven archetypes; Voyage and Return is most popular, followed by Rebirth. ::: Published in THE WONDROUSLY REAL MAGAZINE :::

On Turning Thirty

Did I look away when you brushed your ambitions behind your ear? ::: Published in ARTHROPOD JOURNAL :::

Organ Donor

With my left hand I flick Morris code into my sternum. ::: Published in ARTHROPOD JOURNAL :::

Where to Next

I’d think it all perfect if not for a store-bought drone ripping it all open ::: Published in BLOOD MOON POETRY :::


It’s not for us to find them in the magnetic starfish, ::: Winner of the 2021 Icebreaker Prize, in SPARKED LIT MAG :::


I’m not creative enough to think of who you would be at 43. Out of habit, I still try. ::: Published in RISING PHOENIX REVIEW :::


Can you know how close a gun is by the bullet’s echo? ::: Published in RISING PHOENIX REVIEW :::

Your Name in Ink

rolling across delicate metatarsals.

Four letters, put in your order–

artificial gravity

fastening me to ground.