from “Eventual Proteus”

I held you through all your shifts of structure: While your bones turned from caved rock back to marrow, the dangerous fur faded to hair, the birds cry died in your throat, the tree bark paled from your skin, the leaves from your eyes. – Margaret Atwood


We opened the door to the fairy house & took our tea on matching pebble seats. Somehow we got out of there alive though something crystalline of us remains in that dark, growing its facets. We opened the door to the fairy house at the oak’s black ankle. You asked What could happen? as you… Read More Nursery

The Wedding Planners

We need a preacher who’ll say up in here instead of herein. Our vows should reference calla lilies and the snowy pistils they jab ardently at our faces. Let’s place their linty, foul-mouthed kiss at the center of satin table cloths white as bee boxes and us buzzing like the ichthyic insects we’ll invent: “coddle-… Read More The Wedding Planners