"How to Bind a Lover, or the Lingering Aubade of Lear Aldrich" 

in Twist in time literary magazine, issue 5                                                                                                         

The universe seems small. Lear grasps it between fingers, plucking the strand of hair from Lina’s head. She sleeps on, not knowing the guilt Lear carries in knots between his shoulder blades.




"in the valley of stars" 

in mistletoe & magic: a ya books central holiday anthology                                                                                                                                                   

Begin with a wish before burning. Lyra lingered over the instructions, writing words in ink on an amber-colored leaf. She needed this to feel like tradition…

"the illusionist" 

in firewords magazine, issue 10-Curiosity                                                                                                                                                   

Those first few weeks together existed in a black hole; time tentative and unreal. At his place, Prue ran both hands over the half-finished people who lived within Aris’s sketchbook. She dipped her finger in a bit of blue, same as the spring sky. “The mountains.” Prue painted points on blank pages. “They’re calling me...” 


"let's call it the moon and not heartbreak" 

in dear damsels, now issue                                                                         

I imagine she is in two places at once. She walks through the door of her favourite coffee shop, and the shadow from the words Something Brewed on the window hits her face just right. She looks like the Grayson from six years ago. 

But this is now.





in souvenir lit journal, fall issue                                                                         

The bookstore smells like dust and paper and ink. I remember you best in places like this, even if it’s not a place we shared together. You are still here. I pass by other books on the New Fiction shelf, but I can’t stop looking at yours. I’ve tried to avoid the physical presence of your novel for weeks because I didn’t want to see you plastered against its pages...


"dust to dust, or what we call departing" 

in cat on a leash review, volume, Issue 3

We happened after they cut back the corn; the field was bare, but so were his arms, summer tan beginning to fade... 



in one for one thousand

The leaving is in everything. You know that. This year hinges you between twenty and thirty, and the thought is terrifying...



in one for one thousand

Sophie pinned her hair at the temples, and swooped out the sides of her eyeliner; she found safety in symmetry...





in five 2 one magazine

To go back in time is to unwind the spool of thread inch by inch, life line to dead end. That’s the way the story goes…


"the women of harper house" 

in one for one thousand

Her mother would tell you she’d never been good at climbing; a false hope. At twelve years, Wren Harper mastered ascending the ancient white poplar just beyond the garden gate of the Harper estate...


"where the wild went" 

in one for one thousand

Flames lick at the leaves. Burning captured in photos. The pictures flash over the stage, stretched into obscurity, but Pike knows them. A forest eaten by fire, frame after frame…



in one for one thousand

We smoke for the first time together in her attic apartment, the ceiling unfinished, hidden by tapestries that meet at a point in the center. One is pale purple and patterned with flowers. Another holds colors of a sunset... 



in one for one thousand

Perry climbed over the garden wall. She never used the gate, loving the way the stone felt solid beneath her hands; always familiar. From her spot on the ledge, the tree seemed skeletal, almost bare. She found him there, surrounded by leaves the color of butter...






in one for one thousand

I like to remember the way Camryn looked when she made creatures in the snow, arms spread wide like the wings of those honey bees she always loved. In those moments she seemed more wild than I could ever be. She seemed free...



in one for one thousand

Grayson shifts away from me, pulling the comforter off my legs. I can’t remember the last time she slept through the night, making notes in her phone instead of writing in her notebook...



in one for one thousand

Maybe we are too young and the world is trying to remind us of that.

“It’ll be okay,” I say. 

When she lifted the sheet last night, it looked like spilled ink seeping beneath her. The words are on her lips even now, even if I’m only imagining them. She’s quiet and still and I’m filled with everything she’s not...




in one for one thousand

I wait for you to say something perfect. Niri finishes stringing the lanterns around the patio. All those colored paper shells look like sugared sweets; a candy necklace for the night. I wish they would melt into syrup and trap you and Kinsey; the two of you ambered together forever. Maybe then you would find something to say...



in one for one thousand

The memories are strongest when you sit across from me, knee to knee. We close the circle and hold the moments between us like trapped spirits called in a candle-lit vigil...


"hanged man" 

in one for one thousand

I try to hold the sun inside the same way your mother did, like a talisman. I see her squeezing that ball of light so tight that it oozed over every inch of your childhood home; an aura of habitual happiness...


"three of swords" 

in one for one thousand

The window fogs beneath my breath; a blank slate. Here I write your name. Always your name. The upholstery is not unlike that of any other train: rough and stained and seeping with other people’s secrets. This gives me a nonsensical dose of hope, leaving the taste of lemons and honey behind...