PORTFOLIO

Published work

The Anatomy of a Road Trip.

(Short Story Previously published On Hooray Collective.)

“We’re almost there,” he says.

I watch as he flicks the ash from his forty-seventh cigarette. Two flicks. Flick. Flick. I’ve been counting. I’ve counted cigarettes, flicks, cacti, beats of my heart, regrets. I’ve counted everything except the miles.

If women are from Venus, then men must be from whatever planet encourages farting in public.

(Previously published on Clever Girl goes blog.)

Awhile ago, someone asked me to post about a car trip taken by my husband and myself. Of course, in my typical absentminded (except when I'm a raging control freak, clearly) fashion, I forgot.

The Night Before.

(Previously published on park manor.)

Something always brings me back to you.

The gilt framed mirror in the bathroom confirms my deepest fear. Dark circles. I haven’t slept in days, nothing new. Coffee and cigarettes, diners until the wee hours of the morning, life as a soundtrack playing in the background. 

Everybody loves a winner.

(Previously published on It’s just a moment.)

“You can be anything you want,” she said.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that. Sometimes, when you’ve been gone for years, when you’re three thousand miles away from where you started with nothing to remind you of who you really are, when you melt into the pounded pavement, spread yourself thin amongst the cracks and your soul starts to seep into the underbelly of the city, you forget.

To Raise a Woman.

(Previously published on Hooray Collective.)

I have to raise a woman.

I shouldn’t say “have to.” I should say “get to.”

I get to raise a woman.

Natural Disaster.

(Essay previously published on Clever Girl Goes Blog.)

There were very few things that I thought of as “absolutes” of raising a baby.

What I mean by that is, I planned the best I could, but I honestly had no idea what it would really be like after she arrived. You can have the very best intentions about things, but when faced with reality, sometimes your planning can all go to shit.

Summed up.

(Previously published on clever girl goes blog.)

Late at night
I tend to brood
remembering scenes
from the incomplete play
of a past love and life.

The softer side.

(Previously published on hooray collective.)

In the mirror I can see a me I thought was lost. She is defined, reflected in those eyes, so familiar, yet so different. She is a glimpse, a glimmer, blinked into focus by long-lashed lids, she is hiding in the center of those dimples, she is reality for those tiny fingers.