A published poem.

A creative nonfiction short story.

I woke up that morning at 6 a.m. Pulled on boots, layers of pants, scarves, gloves, and looked out the window to inches of fresh snow. A quick search online let me know that Parley’s Canyon would be treacherous in these conditions, and I wavered about whether or not to chance it. At risk of sounding melodramatic, it felt like a turning point for me.

A fiction short story.

I lean my brow against taut, woven rope. Square board presses on my thighs, flesh overflowing from edges of a too small swing.

A selection of some of my poems from print publications.