Exhale

Autumn exhales, a cool breeze whistling through branches; children at play, quiet feet paddling on dried leaves to make way for a gentle death — a sleep of the summer heat.

I hold your hand to hide from the cold. The same hand raised that night, when snowflakes gathered and watched from…

My Home.

I have many voices. Writing is one of them. I would like to say that I write solely to clear the mind, that there are sounds within me no…

“What is wrong with you?”

Hearing her speak sets off a chain reaction, stirring the waters of my memory; they start to fold into origami swans, laying themselves ontop one another until a beautiful rhyme appears. Echoes of the past, colored in various clothes but all taking the same shape: those sharp…

What Does Your Writing Process Look Like?

I have tried to take a firm hold of my imagination, to wrestle with it until a story was told, but the moment I try to organize my thoughts a simple breeze sets them skyward. I have ideas. They are shy. Behind corners they curl themselves into small…

I Find it Easy.

I find it easy to smile in the face of great sorrow; to offer soft words — not the blades clenched between my teeth. I ignore the…

Here and Now

I am stuck in the present, my mind a slippery fish circling the waters; smooth as a skipping stone, shaped like a broken vase. My memories find cracks, digging with their fingers and breaking windows to flood the soiled floor. I reach as far as I can go, dirt caught beneath the nail as I wait for worms…

That Feeling…

I get a feeling sometimes when I write. I’ve never questioned it, afraid I might startle it back to wherever it came from. Like a white rabbit. A reminder of what lies on the other side — just a touch, a soft whisper of padded feet across your skin. It’s the body talking to me. Giving me a nod of…

Waves

Her tears come in waves. In one moment they crash ashore in an exhale of defeat; face down, hands digging into the sand searching for seashells among shards of glass. Then the ocean recedes until her words solidify, blocks of hard ice carved into a question: why?

The Dance

I like to dance through human traffic. In order to do that you have to be aware of your surroundings — the moment you set foot on the cold…

The Gathering

We’re a group of ten in a small studio apartment, yet it doesn’t feel that way. Somehow we’ve managed to expand the walls, space…