Poetry

Alchemy

It’s early spring. March. Not yet time for Manistee Forest, everything waterlogged and no hiking boots. Brusque cold, trees shuddering as they shimmy off death.…

Fiction

Installation

It was the middle of the day and the sun was bearing down as if God had turned up the spotlight to get a better…

Essays / Nonfiction

Pandemic Mama

Day 30 I am at the sink. Again. Near always. Washing vegetables. Washing dishes. Filling pots. Washing hands. Washing hands. Washing hands. My two-year-old is…

Narrative Map Project / Poetry

Ashtabula, Ohio: The Biker

This poem is part of the Great Lakes Review’s Narrative Map project. The bike wobbles as he turns his head to say hello to the girl…