Cordelia

soft summer air skies tinted pastel orange the breeze tickles my face

White concrete poured poorly, The edges pink and undercooked.

She was right. I don’t know what love is I’ve seen it, and received it, but never given it Or...

Been drifting along A sea of green. Been free to be, to breathe, to dream

I think often of the apricots & shallots that I diced in your kitchen last year with a knife you...

The buttercream needed something. Raspberries? George stirred a spoonful of jam into the bowl and re-tasted. Much better, he thought...

Third place winner in the Synapse Storytelling Contest poetry category. we moved through the sentence of the crowd, its fork-plate...

Third place winner in the Storytelling Contest fiction category. My breath was shaky. My hands were still trembling as my...

the sky smokes a cigarette, exhales an enormous ring into our museum.