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  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I remember the first time I fell in love with language. I was four, maybe five, and I was sitting on the floor listening to my dad coach my brother, Matt, through his spelling list. As many times as Dad would drill him, there was one word in particular that wouldn’t stick, so Matt was left to prac...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Mom, it’s been five years since I saw you last. Twelve since we ran from that hell-hole called Boston and twenty long years form that day at the prison door with that A on your chest, burning with equal parts shame and grief and hidden pride – Two A’s if you count me. But it’s been...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    There we sit on the rooftop singing songs about California and loneliness, while the moons sings along in notes we cannot hear, but feel on our skin. These scars and hearts that crack under pressure are remade, pure and virgin, burned and refined like flecks of gold that shine in your...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I like to squint my eyes in the mirror and study the face my face becomes. I like to squint my eyes in the mirror and look for the face of a poet, Or of someone who always matches her socks. I like to squint my eyes in the mirror and strain to see someone for whom the world comes easily, Because...

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