Creative Prose

  • Summit

    The Cincinnati Review, forthcoming January, 2025

  • Ashtray

    River Teeth's Beautiful Things, October 2024

    Dad bought a Miami of Ohio ashtray in 1957—a tin dish with a bean bag for a base, a red M on its side. I imagine him, eighteen in his dorm, tamping out butts and laughing through smoke over cards as he perfected his bridge game and became his own man…

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  • Like Magic

    HOOT, September 2024

    She dumps happy, sloppy puffs of flour and cracks the eggs (alone!) before we pick out the shells together and add fertile creamy froth, like magic...

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  • Red Hat

    Pithead Chapel, February 2024

    My dead father-in-law came to visit me on my transcontinental bicycle trip. I was riding westward through central Kentucky and had just told my husband, Steve, I could not get home for the funeral. I didn’t let myself cry until we hung up…

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  • Shed Fall

    Los Angeles Review, September 2023

    I woke from a dream today in which I finished the essay I started yesterday. The kind of finishing that is brilliant in the dream, slightly less brilliant when you wake up. Twisty and nonsensical by the time you finish breakfast…

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  • Whippoorwill

    Unbroken, 36, Winter 2023

    I’d forgotten. Years ago, I used to compose poetry while walking: The brittle bones of grandfather winter trees. The rattling of last leaves like rickety teeth. I’d shuffle words and hold them until I returned home to write…

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  • Bikes

    The Sun, July 2022

    When I was a sophomore in college, a friend asked me to bike with her across the country, and I said yes. I’d always been a misfit and wanted to escape myself. I thought this trip might help me change and become more self-reliant. My friend…

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  • Tea

    River Teeth’s Beautiful Things, April 2022

    At every lesson, she serves me tea. She steeps it with cardamom and swirls of evaporated milk then pours it steaming into “my” cup—a white ceramic blue-flowered mug—and adds a heaping spoonful of sugar. It must be drunk hot and can’t be rewarmed if I’m late…

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  • The Dresser

    Brevity, January 2022

    “Look what he’s done.” My grandmother—Greggie—tried to sound annoyed, but her tone came across as affectionate because Papa hadn’t actually done anything wrong. We stood in their bright, airy bedroom discussing the maple furniture…

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  • Monsters

    Mount Hope, Fall 2021

    With our faces to the New England breeze, Papa and I watched the multicolored triangles of sloops and cutters slip past while listening to the call of the gulls, the lap of water over pebbles, and the echoed shouts and laughter of pleasure seekers on the water. Without his saying, I understood that my grandfather felt connected to this place, and coming here made me feel connected to him…

  • Fire-Breathing Dragon

    Furious Gravity, May 2020

    I took my purse and a small brown paper sac into the bagel shop restroom, removed a pregnancy test from its box, and peed on the stick. Afterward, I stood gazing at the fold-down diaper changing station, unsure of what to do next. . . . Some might have thought I was crazy to have another baby while still working on my PhD in English…

  • Concatenate

    Creative Nonfiction, Spring 2017

    Cretinize. On the first night of class, my Introduction to Literary Theory professor asked us to state our research interests. I scanned the room for other perplexed faces but didn’t find any. It appeared no one else expected to be told what to study. I glanced at the door just a few steps away. Flee! I thought…

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  • Happy to Starve

    Literary Mama, November 2016

    When I looked at him, I could only think of pain. It was July, and I sat on the couch preparing to nurse my infant son, Connor. I’d quit my job to stay home with him…

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  • Fear Circuitry

    Blue Mesa Review, No. 33, Spring 2016

    The dizzying sun sucks moisture out of me in great rivulets of sweat that pool between my breasts and soak my back as I hunch over my handlebars and pedal my bike up the hill. I can feel my blood pulsing in my face…

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  • Parenting From the Top of a Hill

    Club Mid/Scary Mommy, Summer 2015

    Last week, my oldest son packed up his soccer ball, his smelly socks and his brand new computer and left home for college. The 18 years it took us to get here have rocketed past. But as surprised as I am…

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