From the Archives: Sluts

“It’s blowjob never blow job. ATM is not where you take money out of a machine.”



#That(baby)Girl

She’s too young to pronounce digraphs!


Excerpt from False Prophet

My mother’s death had punctured some hole in me that drained all my confidence and joy. Everything felt wrong, so I did nothing, backing out of meetings with producers, retreating from every door success opened.




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Image shows a detailed close up of a small light brown bird in flight, with its feet tucked close to its body. The feathers in its wings and tail are spread wide, and its face is angled towards the camera. It has a small black eye and a light brown beak. The background is a greyish white sky with bright green leaves in the bottom right corner.

We Were Singing

not dead but being embalmed; we were singing the whole / time – out of key, nonetheless, but singing


An oil painting of three nineteenth-century women gleaning a field of wheat.

The Gleaner’s Daughter

Time and geography decide what counts as abundance. But abundance was not where I came from.