illness

A Winter in Majorca | Poetry

A Winter in Majorca | Poetry

In the damp cell in Valldemossa, Chopin sits at the piano, a smear of blood across his lips. George Sand, in trousers, stands beside him, cold cigar clinched in her teeth. The pomegranate trees shiver in the wind. The ceaseless rain drums the windowpane. He is...
Fruiting Body | Poetry

Fruiting Body | Poetry

Fruiting Body Sometimes I imagine my body fodder for damp gardens, sunken in the permanent earth. I am not dead weight for trees. Sometimes a carcass is just a carcass. But the soft underside of every alive thing is an offering. Tender bellies up in surrender, supple...
These Stretchmarks | Poetry

These Stretchmarks | Poetry

These Stretchmarks These stretchmarks drink a full glass of water before bed, they want to stand up and stand out in the morning, tired of dimming their light to avoid attention. These stretchmarks don’t pretend, they leave red marks when you want to subtract...
I was Here Before the Monster | Fiction

I was Here Before the Monster | Fiction

Breakaway peg-legged tables and vines growing in the cracks of your home. Cat fur fallen in the gaps of your sofa, the creature purring a room away. You grab your hair and pull it out like weeds. Like it’s a thing that was put there, not yours anymore. “I’m not dying...
Cultivation | Poetry

Cultivation | Poetry

Cultivation Why do our bodies make things they do not need? Seeds from a fast food kids’ meal in a backyard whiskey barrel make juicy little red globes on the vine. Replication is supposed to be a highly regulated routine, a pageant of proteins and cytoskeletal...