Personal Writing



I once knew where I was going. Had the keys, had the map, had the whole damn tricky tap tap of the tin box holding my twin locks. Just like that — let's go. But now. Now. I'm rooted to the spot. Sticky trickly toffee pudding caramelizes my toes. It burns, it scorches, it blackens… Continue reading Stuck

The Home


It’s funny how names conjure up images. A Brandi is a surefire stripper. A Chad is a gym rat douchebag who says things like, “I’m counting my macros.” And a Greta, well, a Greta is the type of gal who will milk cows. She’ll churn butter. She’ll make you a strudel with said milk and… Continue reading Greta


The Coffee Pot Tree

I’m not sure how we found it or why we went there. It was tucked away deep in the woods on the last acre or so of our grandparents’ farm, where stinging nettles reached out for bare ankles and still-white blackberries grew. It was far past Brody’s grave beside the willow tree and still farther… Continue reading The Coffee Pot Tree