Latest Works

— For Evan   G. Where will I go in tender sleep? Do the grasses call me back through soil and root, to meet myself before I was called my given name? Does the doorway of my mouth, left ajar, spill my nest of secrets, each strange and hidden symbol released into mother's knowing arms — the gentle rhizomic labyrinth just below?  Do the red-clay aqueducts of my veins become the silver-salt of river silt, savoring each delectable footprint of friends and lovers at play? My laught

I wish I could see you tonight. The sky is cold and foggy like the bottom of my shower, and I miss you.  You were the prettiest girl I know. Eyes the color of soy milk and midnight hair braided with lucky charms. In a sea of red lips and curvy hips, you were a shooting star. Even your mom said so.  You were her treasure; if she could paint you in gold and display you in the town square she would have. She would pinch your cheeks for color and present you to all the hungry P

Saturday, February 6, 2016 The day had barely begun, and exhaustion had already defeated me. I hadn’t slept more than two hours in a row in weeks. My brain felt disconnected from my body, as if I had to remind myself how to walk, to blink, to breathe. I shuffled into the nursery wearing a nightshirt crusted with dried breast milk and the new slippers Peter gave me for Christmas—open-toe slip-ons with great poufs of pink faux fur that make no damn sense in a Winnipeg winter.