I wanted him to love me Until he said it Until he took the words and shoved them into syllables that I could count on just one hand. The words The way they sound inside his mouth The way they look inside the air Hovering before his face Their viscous form, blood red Like strawberry …
Continue reading Strawberry Jam
We pick oranges. I can see the sweat on his Miami Dolphins t shirt, and on his upper lip.
Render. What is this body I have made? How strange, this physicality of self. The things I have become, and all of those I haven’t. Sometimes, when my eyes are not quite working right, I look like someone else inside the mirror. Unfamiliar. Foreign. I wonder if my mother would still know me—but, of course, …
The Northridge Review is shifting to an online literary magazine. We are accepting work from writers across all genres, fields, what have you. I'm the Prose Editor for the Spring Edition, and I'd love to see your stuff. Send me your weird, eclectic, unconventional writings. Make my skin crawl. Give me nightmares. Or, just tell …
Continue reading Creative Writing Friends…send me your work.
The Wild Heart of Life 