Non Fiction

"Being There" Empty Mirror, 2017

"We had never gone away together, never taken a vacation. My mother had always been too busy cleaning houses, changing diapers, and dating worthless men."

"Eating Together" The Baltimore Review, Winter 2015

Notable Mention in The Best American Essays 2016

"I am a vegetarian now, have been one for two years. My mother asked me, the last time I saw her, a month ago, if I found that my diet causes me to be depressed."

"Après Moi Le Déluge," Dewpoint, vol. 5

"On January 19th, 1993 Riverside County, California is declared a state of emergency by Governor Pete Wilson . . . the Whitewater River swallows three cars, swept away by rapids of mud and debris.  Seven people die."

Fiction

"Me Without You," Forklift, Ohio Issue 32

"Two weeks before her father shot her dead on Labor Day weekend, my best friend JoJo carved our initials into the crepe myrtle tree at school. Ms. Rivers didn’t know it, but JoJo had been carrying her mother’s switchblade inside her sneaker."

"The Technicolor Jive," The Superstition Review, Issue 16

"His mother turned to face the window. The man pulled the curtains back so that she could see the robin. The bird flittered against the glass, and the man wanted his mother to see the white of the bird’s belly, how it pulsed in the sunlight."

"No Angels," Litro, Issue 139

"Death is a funny thing. My friends and me, we’ve seen a lot of people die. Mostly men. Young guys. We’d wake in the morning to find a body in the street. Sometimes, it’d be there for hours."

"The Sky That You Look Upon," RipRap Issue 37, p. 109

"She believed in the power of the sun.  That it could clean all kinds of things. Start over.  She believed in a good hook, could find herself again and again in the replay; the bass, the drums.  Again and again."