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We hate the gardenias Our eggs are cold Opal, agate, hymns To the roots Bring on one more |
in the garden we aren’t arresting anymore pears, jam, etcetera of the Alder tree wild spring |
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lives in the Seattle area and writes wherever writing will have her. She shares her home with her husband, her pet hamster and her robot, Feldman. Her work has appeared in numerous journals, including Blood Orange Review, Blossombones, Boxcar Poetry Review, Fence and Qarrtsiluni. Most of the time, she and poetry hobble along in a sort of three-legged race where there is no finish line.
