This poem was originally published in Not Your Mother’s Breast Milk January 2019 special mental health edition. *** In the summertime the mosquitoes come out to bite me Tiny tingling red bumps swell to the surface of my skin When I am not quick enough to notice their needle noses …

I didn’t wake up particularly early the morning after the insurrection. My alarm sounded at 7 AM, then I doomscrolled for 20 minutes. I thought back to the morning before, how joyous Twitter was at 7 AM MST in response the news that Rev. Raphael Warnock had defeated Kelly Leoffler…

My writerly life ebbs and flows; there are times were my appetite to write is insatiable and other times where my palette is dry, where my motivations and aspirations are directed away from the pen and paper and towards other means of sustenance. I would argue that the latter has…

In the spring of 2018 I signed up for my first writers workshop through the New Orleans Writers Workshop. Outside of taking a semester of creative writing in college, which did not function in the same capacity as a workshop as I would later learn, I really had no clue…

In 2019 I committed to one of my new year’s resolutions most stringently: read more and read books by a diverse group of authors. As a slow reader, I had to be realistic about the expectations I was setting for myself, but managed to read 18 books cover-to-cover. …

Saul died unexpectedly at the age of 85. His death day started out as an unremarkable one. He took a shower, shaved, ate a peanut butter and apricot jelly sandwich, and sat in his favorite chair to watch the tennis channel. …