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?
Poetry/Prose (Mobile reading not recommended, best viewed on desktop)
" The Graces always struck me as ultimate #squadgoals..."
Is it a revolution if everyone's doing it?
Once I inhabited my body like a Trojan horse...
Somewhere in your ancestral villa lives a woman who slices persimmons like she was born to handle knives and babies
Inspired by Massimo Bottura's famous dessert
Birthday musings, witchy images.
Poems and reflections from my summer in Italy & Greece
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"
Written in thanks for a year of shipwrecks + wonders
Tapping me like a keg marked "Woman"
Latin lovers and childhood remnants
We are such stuff as dreams are made on---are dreams, therefore, the stuff of us?