a poem — for Rachel Held Evans I wonder if you, borrowing an archangel’s sword, could pare me back into the boy who used to dance, before polished wood and purple cloth, hands raised and heart empty, charged with a confidence I did not own. Grief stirs ever within me, black without sugar, the…

“The Roughest Draft” reads smooth as silk. — I read an absurd number of books a year. I’m so excited to have a place on Medium where I can share the books that I love with others. My usual reading space is contemporary YA; the sadder, the better. But I am stepping away from my comfort zone for…

a quatern — I tended you, a flower in my heart; your roots delved deep and I could never mind the loss of blood. I loved to see you grow. We were enough; I was content to go through spring and spring again. We had no snow. I tended you, a flower in my heart. And all was good…