A Mother

There must be a way to both constrict and construct a mother:


A week ago, you bugged me—practically harassed me.


I’m a disaster walking
down the street.


We humans, all so tastelessly mortal.

Writing the immersive, haunting, and raw with Pushcart Prize nominee Bryana Lorenzo

“Essentially, I’m inspired by the unheard, by those with a story to tell but who are often ignored or forgotten or even villainized for doing nothing but existing… Rage against justice not done and rage against the burying of stories untold is the true lifeblood of my work.”


Instrumental, we seem, to our own surmise.

Nor the Spud

It wasn’t the senseless loss of my own daily routine

I’m Not

I’m sorry your mother hadn’t the backbone

She Lived

She had always liked running through the field, feeling the wind as she ran

Son of Sirens

“I saw him once, the son of sirens. That’s all you ever need to go mad,”


Caress caress caress caress caress caress


I don’t know if you’ll ever be what I can’t find,


Grunge layered on pots I set out in August-


you can’t return the past–


All through summer, Lily searched for butterflies.

Beetle Catching

My boyfriend takes care of me. He texts me when he’s out of the house.


Why don’t I go to a peninsula in Belize?