As everyone picked up their forks, placed napkins on laps, you would slide your wine glass over to your granddaughter and let her stick her finger in, suck the acidic sweetness from the tip.


image of a pitch black scene, except for a lone illuminated window on the far right side of the image. The yellow light illuminates the walls and orange doors inside the room

Night Shifts

You learned to say “I need a job” in English at the JFK airport to anybody who would listen. That’s when they put a mop in your hands. So you started mopping, and then you stopped smoking, stopped drinking, or at least that’s what you told me you did. Maybe it was when you had Elizabeth, and before you had us, that you stopped having fun.

vibrant blue bioluminescent coral glows a neon light blue


He tugs at his sleeves. Maybe he has a sister—as I have a brother—whose brain, like the zebrafish’s brain, craves that bitter swallow, that floating high.

close up of lined grass ending just before it meets concrete. the point where the two surfaces meets for a diagonal line across the image


Mid-squat above my dented desk chair, the one painted black, its wood from some long lost oak poking through, I realize I’ve left the kitchen light on. Its glow casts austere shadows down the hallway, disrupted only by a brief flicker—some fault in the fuse or simply the ghost of my better self, scolding me […]

a sand piper walks on a beach covered in leaves and foliage

We Defy Augury

A frog body splayed under a bench spilled its entrails just for us, the only ones here who couldn’t read them. All the birds of the last few days now seemed to augur in the Roman way—where gods’ wills could be seen in their flight, their sound, their type and grouping.

Now, You Will Listen

classmates’ eyes : my child’s face))) until my kid walked the halls))) to the school bathroom))))) to text me from a stall))) crying))) feeling what it is)))  to  really be))) little))) a hard  lesson in world history))) a lesson I’d learned))) at that age too.

purple night sky with a shooting star. an orange glow comes from just above the mountains at the bottom of the picture.

Worm Food Support Group

It’s true that braids are a love language. It’s true that fruit is a love language. It’s true that the shooting star emoji is, too.