Inventory of a Morning
6:22. The greyness before the light knows what it wants to be. Coffee, made before fully waking, operated by the hands without the head's i...
Writing + media
6:22. The greyness before the light knows what it wants to be. Coffee, made before fully waking, operated by the hands without the head's i...
I've been thinking about you lately. You are the version of me that stayed — that didn't take the job in the other city, that didn't end tha...
To the argument I walked away from, at twenty-six, in a room full of people who were wrong about something I was too tired to explain: you w...
Room one: Age seven. A kitchen in a house that smelled of woodsmoke and something sweet I could never identify. My mother at the table with...
The boiler makes a sound at two in the morning. You will think it is something else. It is the boiler. It has been doing this for years and...
There is a photograph of my mother taken the summer before I was born. She is standing in a garden I have never seen, wearing a yellow dress...