Emily Linstrom

What if the everyday ritual found an equally sacred place in one’s own Book of Days?

I started to scribble a poem in Verona, titled 'I Want to Steal the Breasts of Juliet,' and while I never finished it, the sentiment still lingers...

Originally published in American Slander, revisiting the room.

Satan is a skinny b*tch.

There’s the haves and the have-nots, and the only thing standing between the two is a vinyl doll in pantaloons.

"What will we do with ourselves this afternoon, and the day after that, and the next thirty years?" Daisy Buchanan wasn't the only one to pose this existential dilemma.

"Anyone who is familiar with Stravinsky’s “The Rite Of Spring” can attest that this time of year is anything but gentle..." On the ancient Pagan holiday, and how to keep the...

Adventures in major depressive disorder.

My Florentine adventure and chance encounter with an inspiring coffee entrepreneur this past summer.

penned under the name Emmie Linstrom

penned under the name Emmie Linstrom

penned under the name Emmie Linstrom

penned under the name Emmie Linstrom

penned under the name Emmie Linstrom

A two-truths-and-a-lie satire concerning lifestyle blogs, elite interior magazines, two con artists, and the necessary acquiring of things.

My award -winning short story about a Depression-era dustbowl family, and the many ways magic can be twisted to corrupt or cope.

They say she is the soul of all wasted women: beautiful and barren, she is the suicide of winter, the white bone buried beneath the seedling; a strange and dangerous tree...

A tale about a family of monstrous immortals squatting in "a part of London even London has no recollection of..."

No more little mermaids.

What were faerie tales but the earliest birds and bees talk?

​Somewhere in your ancestral villa lives a woman who slices persimmons like she was born to handle knives and babies

Birthday musings, witchy images.

Poems and reflections from my summer in Italy & Greece

Once I inhabited my body like a Trojan horse...

1 year anniversary of my Featured Poet pieces on seduction, loss, women, and Castro's Cuba.

"my language like the knife that slices the oyster, savoring the gore as much— if not more— than the delicacy of meat"