Originally published on Rat’s Ass Review I stand under the arms of a pear tree looking up at the biggest piece of golden fruit. The grass, curved with morning dew, reaches above my ankles, the fruit swelling with ripeness above. I notice the light reflecting from the faces of the tree’s clattering leaves, illuminating each blade of grass below as sun-fingers take turns flicking me through the branches. I reach up. Grasp the bulbous fruit. Pull. Pull again, pressing itRead more


Originally published in Eunoia Review   I remember the metallic taste of your flesh on my tongue. How my teeth cracked on your desiccated bones. You broke to pieces in my mouth. I carried you in my cheeks.Read more

The Dust of My Husband

Originally published in Eunoia Review My lungs once devoured air full of your dust and now they are addicts in withdrawal. I searched in your threadbare pillow, your favorite shoes, the ashes you left in the fireplace. I did not find dust, but your lovers handwritten on a piece of yellowed paper. There were many, and my name was not the last on your list. I placed your pillow and shoes on the ashes and lit a match. I watched youRead more

American April

A memoir excerpt originally published in Cosmonauts Avenue. The first time I saw an amputee was in April 2006 at Bethesda Naval Hospital. I was twenty years old. The man was attractive, probably in his late teens to early twenties, with overgrown brunette hair, the beginnings of a beard, and both legs missing just above the knees. Behind him, a woman around the same age with platinum blonde hair cut into a bob, who I assumed to be his wife,Read more

All My Friends are Pregnant, and All I Feel is Fear

Originally published on  One of my closest friends told me she was pregnant the other night over taco salad. I imagined us a year from then sitting in her living room. She sits across from me in her pajamas — her child latched to her breast – and resents me a little for being able to come and go as I please. For not completely understanding what it’s like to have to share my body, to nourish another humanRead more


She faced the back corner, fluffing the tissue in her bra under a glowing Bud Light sign before moving to the bar. She sat across from a man she noticed was staring at her. Leaning in, her chest gently pressed against a cup of cherries. “Old Forester on the rocks,” she said. The man watched as she swayed to the music.Read more

Need a Miracle

“What do they do with the limbs?” I’d asked the doctor before Cleve’s surgery. I’d wanted to keep it. Throw it on George Bush’s lawn. “They’re incinerated,” he replied matter-of-factly. I imagined Cleve’s body in flames. When he’d sleep, I’d stare at the empty space below the left side of his body. He had said he could still feel his toes. He could bend them, and sometimes they stung — burning apparitions. I thought, if he could feel them, maybe I could see them, too.Read more