soft rain

i give myself

permission to fail

*Published by Haikuniverse on 3/13/24

**Selected for inclusion in the 2024 Red Moon Anthology

 all bang no whimper

it was an ordinary crash

each car tangled into

a web of metal and shards

maybe there was a fire

i walked out

and you got on your knees

to give your life to christ

the hotel had a full-length mirror

and for the first time in nearly a decade

i looked upon my own flesh

and said it was good

i’m almost certain there was a fire

in kindergarten i remember the drills

devise a plan

get out

you can’t stay in a burning home

humans are so primal

they see an inferno and their pupils

dilate in desire

but my hands are on fire

flames licking back my skin

to the bone and i'm honestly

too tired to care if

you touch me and the fire obliterates you

*Published in Skyway Journal on 1/7/22

**A 2023 Best of the Net nominee

stomach punch

and yet

i was born

*Published in Suspect Device Zine (Turning Japanese #5)

**Nominated for The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Individual Poem Award by the editor

to be

in a

river of

to be

*Published by Cold Moon Journal on 5/19/21

**Nominated for The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Individual Poem Award by the editor

of course

the mountain

wasn’t always

*Published by Cold Moon Journal on 5/15/21

**Selected for commentary in re:Virals 302 on The Haiku Foundation’s website

***Nominated for The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Individual Poem Award by the editor

 modern love

he swings with

a girl on video

*

February 14th

i crank up

My Bloody Valentine

*

empty wine bottle

you like it when

i’m easy

*Published in Suspect Device Zine (Turning Japanese #4)

**Nominated for The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Individual Poem Award by the editor

 not every color

has a name...

midnight jazz

*Published in the February 2021 issue of Stardust Haiku

**Selected for the 2021 Red Moon Anthology

***Winner of The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Individual Poem Award 2021

 unholy matrimony an off-pitch organ drones

*Published by horror senryu journal on 12/11/20

**Nominated for The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Individual Poem Award by the editor

 it begins

insidiously

like the one time

you called me

by

her first name

*

after leaving home

for the first time

in two weeks

I breathe in

the rain-soaked air

like a fragrant rose

*

noiseless

the moon and stars

birth life

this is

why I am still awake

at 2 a.m.

*

after mother died

I purchased binoculars

to view the night

as if she were hidden

between

Orion and Sirius

*Published in leave me here (the cherita book 42)

*The last cherita was designated as a cherita lighthouse (editor’s choice)

 dancing

around infinity

I grasp

the heart

of the universe

still beating

*

winter’s end

I cannot wait

to tell

the first flower

I see

she was missed

*

without signs

warning

do not touch

my fingerprints

would sully

each Pollock

*

my favorite days

are the ones

where I cannot tell

if I am

still dreaming

between claps of thunder

*

drops of freezing rain

stick to my hair

admittedly

I did not realize

what fun it is

to play ice queen

*Published in i heard it first (the cherita book 41)

**The second cherita was designated as a cherita lighthouse (editor’s choice)

 focus

your breath

upon my words

you are

safe within

this space

*

each time

I build walls

around myself

the spring air

somehow

knocks them down

*

I wrestle

with a desire

to disappear

not to start over

but

to never be found

*

in my life

a lot of lines

have blurred

like the ones

dividing dreams

and nightmares

*

it is late

and I am

so very cold

but I cannot look

away from

these stars

*Published in from my window (the cherita book 40)

*The last cherita was designated as a cherita lighthouse (editor’s choice)

if you can

take comfort

in the change of seasons

even snow

will eventually

become tulips

*

thunder

I have missed you

more than you’ll ever know

the sun

can only say

so much

*

are you

as afraid

as me

when you

first dive

into sleep

*

a bit of magic

before dawn

here I am

watching

the Space Station

cross the sky

*

to the bird

near my window

I know

you are not singing

for me

but thank you

*

bruised

is how I would prefer

to remember

your hands

when striking

my flesh

*Published in a sense of place (the cherita book 39)

**The first two cherita were designated as a cherita lighthouse (editor’s choice)

no, I have never

seen the devil

but I have

seen a grown man

eye a little girl

like meat

*

I wish there was a noun

to describe

the sound of a night train

shushing anxiety

a lullaby

for the weary at heart

*

dear trees

it was in

your embrace

that I finally

learned

I was loved

*

pulling

each string

of my harp

who knew

a prayer doesn’t

need words

*

vanilla and sugar

let’s dream

for a moment

that this world

could be

as sweet as that

*Published in it’s a secret place (the cherita book 38)

*The first cherita was designated as a cherita lighthouse (editor’s choice)

I am

both shades

of midnight

when you

slip into

my mind

*

tell me again

that she wasn’t

as good as me

when you

explored her skin

instead of mine

*

the things

left unsaid

burn in my chest

look at me

a black hole

playing human

*Published in and still (the cherita book 37)

*tell me again and the things left unsaid were designated as a cherita lighthouse (editor’s choice) 

before we were human the sparrow’s call

*

midnight

don’t we all

birth a universe

*

moonlit grass when our lives converge

*

free

if only

a theory

*Published by Heliosparrow on 1/10/20

*The first poem was short listed for The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Individual Poem Award

ripped wings what you make of faith

*Published in Sonic Boom Issue Sixteen
**Selected for the 2019 Red Moon Anthology

dynamite when prophesy blows my dust

*

not your ordinary eclipse the anvil of remembrance

*

dark matter unmaking our daily bread

*

pounding on the echo chamber door my no to your yes

*

head smashed arguing orange until green

*

what were you saying these tentacles in me

*

going going gone the black of pitch

*

into June's hymn I recast your death

*

unsheathing daggers your bones expose the lie

*

road to home peeling skin in the graveyard

*

my other name the redwood hums a processional

*

one with Polaris and yet the amygdala kicks

*

electric rainbow in the thick of the body

*

divisible by infinity all that could have been

*

where your story ends I combust into a rose

*Published in my first e-chapbook: says the rose (Yavanika Press 2019)

**Selected as Book of the Week by The Haiku Foundation on 10/15/24

contents under pressure to be human

*Published in Issue 1.8 of Human/Kind Journal
**Nominated for The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Individual Poem Award by the editor

rape. Things you learn from family

*Published in the August 2019 edition of is/let
**Reprinted in Haiku 2020 (Modern Haiku Press)

***Selected for inclusion in Haiku 21.2 (a best-of-decade anthology) in 2025

Rebecca

I wasn't popular in high school. In a Catholic institution filled with all things blond, tan, ambitious, and religious, I was the weirdo agnostic who dug combat boots and barely saw the light of a grade higher than C. My sole friend—a conservative, prim Brainiac—never viewed me as a misfit, however. I was her dear pal. A sleepover buddy. I was the person who snuck into a vacant girls' locker room at lunch to philosophize life and Tolkien with her, without the background chatter of a blustering cafeteria.  
 
Before we graduated, I made the risky choice to tell her that I was bisexual. I never had a crush on her, I said, but I wanted her to know the real me, whatever that was, before we journeyed our separate ways to college.   
 
A week or two later, she sent me a lengthy hand-written letter, the old-fashioned way: through mail. It was one of the most beautiful, raw, and compassionate things I had ever read, filled with unconditional love and support. I was floored. In my head, I whispered continual gratitude—a thousand silent thank-yous to whoever listened to my internal ramblings that I had, despite my prediction, not lost a friend.  
 
I tucked her letter in my bedroom drawer and vowed to the stars I would respond soon. But I never did. And I never saw or heard from her again. 
 

in the wind

a thousand apologies
​lost forever 

*Published in Issue 1.2 of Human/Kind Journal
**2019 Pushcart Prize nominee