I once wrote a poem about the etymology of the word hysteria, how it comes from the Greek word for uterus ; how there has never been...

My mother texts twelve times a day I have grown accustomed to texting her twelve times a day and today she has not text me once. I worry...

On colder days, I dream of sitting on the shoulder of a hill with Mary Oliver drinking a Capri-Sun. Blackcurrant. I'd ask her so many...

Morning kisses you on the forehead wide-eyed and wet with renewal and again, the sun winks batters her red lashes and paints you pink and...