The strings of bullet seeds dangle like green jewels in opulent bunches on the biggest and healthiest ones, under the wind-battered specimens the seed strings lie on the ground, trampled.

“People all over the city notice these trees” the guide says. Less alone am I, for being a person among others, noticing all over the city.

My chapbook Forestwish won the 2021 Birdhouse Chapbook Prize and came out with Ghostbird Press in April 2022. Order your copy here.

See the events page or sign up for my mailing list to find out about book launch events.

If Roland Barthes is as incredible as Theweleit and Žižek, then he’ll be able to tell her how romantic love can go wrong and how to imagine it in a friendlier way. She’s very interested in that. But even more so, she’s interested in what kind of love Jens thinks highly of, and if by chance the book has a conscious or subconscious message from Jens, she’s interested in that most of all. At home she immediately climbs into bed with Roland Barthes and begins to read.

My translation of Veronika Reichl’s “What a Shame” appeared in minor literature[s] in March, 2025. The story is an excerpt from Reichl’s book, The Feeling of Thinking.

It’s raining, but we are not made of sugar. It’s raining so hard that the bright blue edifice is a blur, an indigo eye bathed in tears... 

Essay at Beyond Words Literary Magazine in the June 2022 Issue.

Together with Katie Machen, I’m the coeditor of Eating Alone, an anthology of essays and poems. It was published in 2023 by Clotheslines, a literary journal that explores what it means to be in relation.

Please contact me directly if you would like to purchase a copy.

If the heart isn’t as swollen with joy as the bursting tree buds, how to handle this extravagant seasonal plant metamorphosis? What if the sight of flowers makes something inside you hurt a little bit…How then will you reckon with the rending beauty of spring?

Now I kneel in front of my agnostic altar where there is a candle, some incense, and a print of a painting, barbed wire piercing a young woman’s head, the artist’s sister in Gaza under rubble.

Collapsed on the floor in front of her, unbidden words spill out of my ragged throat…

The sight of your friends’ faces illuminated by hot light, standing in a circle as flames leap into the air, as needles crackle and burst, as sparks fly, this image will stay with you. This moment feels holy.

Until the pandemic hit, I hadn’t prayed in nearly two decades…But in June, in another of the many twists 2020 had to offer, I found myself prostrate on the floor in front of a homemade altar of candles and flowers and herbs, pleading for the safety of a woman I had never met.