for lease

You Give Me Fever

I have this fever. 104 degrees. I try not to move, restricting myself to the confines of my silhouette of body heat. Sweatshirt, sweatpants, socks. Even my hood is up, and you know how much I hate that. Layers can only do so much. My body is homesick and you are home. I try to…

red flowers

Born

I was born with ten fingers and ten toes and a stubbornness that will never die. I was born with a tiny beige birthmark on my leg that I hated immensely until I learned to love myself. I was born with a name that people struggle to make catchy nicknames out of. I was born…

pushpins

Not Quite Gone

Even once you think you’ve finally moved on, I’ll still find you in the most unexpected places. My favorite book will appear on your shelf. My fingerprints will decorate the condensation on your water glass. Every newscaster will say her vowels like I do. You’ll find my smile tucked behind the mirror and my too-dark…

cell phone addiction

Screen

screaming at our screens they should be simple but nothing ever is Welcome to Microvember, my take on NaBloPoMo. Each day this month I’ll be posting microfiction, short vignettes, or poetry, accompanied by photography. See more Microvember posts here. 

I Do

She fingered the hay bale that served as a makeshift church pew for his farm wedding. Every detail was taken directly from Pinterest—just what they had both sworn to hate, but now he was vowing to love until death do them part. Welcome to Microvember, my take on NaBloPoMo. Each day this month I’ll be posting…

watch

I Remember

I remember the hydrangea bush in the backyard, a source for many pretend-wedding bouquets. I remember the sleeve of stale saltines. I remember choking on irony and tragedy as the vet told me she’d finally feel relief right before she died. I remember the ungodly amounts of scotch tape my grandmother used to adhere red…

lying in the grass

Scrape

I tore the skin on my knees. Not enough to gush, but enough to flood to the surface, and I scraped my hands too. How do we learn to catch ourselves when we fall? Why do our hands automatically outstretch, bear our weight, stop our motion? Why do we want to fly? Falling is the…

books

The Only Words

He wasn’t a reader, but he promised to read my favorite book, knowing how desperately I wanted him to love words the way I do. He started reading in June. Two months later I boarded the plane to New York with a memory on replay: running to his car in the rain the night before, only to hear…

fear

One Fist

When your ex-boyfriend gets a new house, a new car, and a new phone, you’ll find yourself trying to count the things that haven’t changed—his incredible memory, his playfulness, his eyebrow raise, his gentle hands, and his voice—and end up holding out one hand and one fist. When he shuffles you out the door before 11…

hands driving

Let Go

Wedding photographers have a way of emphasizing hands: the left ring finger, the fist around the bouquet, the gentle clutch of two people who’ve promised to never let go. “Let go!” He shouted, and his entire team released their white-knuckled grips on the spiky rope. The other kids grunted and toppled to the ground, and…