My great love has always been prose writing. Words are my darlings- they are the only things capable of extending the rare and fleeting poignancies of the physical world. It seems strange to start a blog without including the writing form most intimate to me, so here are some pieces (old now, collecting dust) I'd like to air out in the sun.


The Secret Lives of Plants

My husband has told me loves me without telling me three times. The first time was two days before our wedding.

“I’ll miss you.”

“But we’ll only be apart for two days!”

I realized later what he was trying to say. 

Evidence of the Ephemeral

“Spin the globe,” he had said, each of his fingers laying on top of mine, bending and unbending my elbow as he moved his hand. I touched the globe and ran my index over the ridges in the map. The skin in his knuckles had puckered and there were flecks of caramel over the slightly protruding veins. I moved the globe and looked closer. The topography of his hands looked like Lebanon.


Casper in Edinburgh

I have walked so many streets since West Virginia. At first I went looking for beautiful streets, streets with cobblestones and cathedrals, and in Virginia, streets with brick. I wanted to feel weightless. I wanted to wear loafers and write poetry.