top of page


My Mother's Hair, My Father's Rage
Some people are made of flower petals, or hard, stony rocks. Some are black holes draining the light from everyone nearby. Some people carry the elements inside: water, wind, earth, metal and me: fire. My mother once brought home a psychic who told her I was too much fire. Said to drape the room in blue with curtains, sheets, my clothes too to cool the heat that lives in me. A little color theory. But there’s a small ember tucked beside my lungs deep flames simmering like the
1 min read


Naked and Afraid
My father used to say: “I raised you this way.” Like Mulan in the war, I passed as a man in girl form. After a few hard years he told me,...
1 min read
bottom of page