Rania lifts her head off the cot to peer between her knees. Omaja, with her head buried between them, in a cotton white sari, looks like a water lily floating in and out of view. 

A single mother, I live on the edge of Hardwick Village, Vermont (pop. 1,300) in a house built a century ago for psilosis-plagued granite workers.

Seven shades of blue reflect the pale white moon.

I can’t hold the weight of the screeching cryptic shadows in my deflated amygdala anymore.

The holidays were upon us, and everything around us was cheerful, bright, and merry.

Tracy’s basement & want of sex

Colleen pulls in front of my house, blasting the horn as I grab my parka, charge outside, and yank open the passenger door. “Get in, MK. We don’t have much time.”

when I smell cigarettes I see her

Wetaskawin Hobbema Maskwacis Meadow Lake LC Parking Lot

When you have your big toe amputated, it makes your foot look larger, which is unexpected.

Narrowness a squeeeze

A rapture of comedy and tragedy wrapped around long legs carrying emotions that create their own sound.

Oh the joy! A mountain, we climb

I’m writing this on my phone from some broke-off ridgeline, eating those depression crackers in the Chili Mac MRE. The land is scorched earth—

The long boreen, down from my house, faces the rising sun and I usually rise with it.