Creative Writing

Links to published creative writing 

Re-Spiritualizing Colonial Landscapes: On Natalie Diaz's "Postcolonial Love Poem" —

In the title of her second poetry collection, Natalie Diaz clearly announces the book’s intentions: to couple the political and the personal. “Postcolonial Love Poem” showcases what could be seen as competing emotions. The book’s bedrocks are both the angst and anger of indigenous people in a still colonized landscape as well as the refuge and grounding influence of familial and erotic love. Diaz does not try to reconcile these things. Rather, she examines the way they overlap. In the postcoloni

Tricia, 20 Years Gone

It will be twenty years this fall. Two decades she’s been gone. Trish. Tricia Marie. Lover of terrible 70s bands and even more terrible 70s track suits. Devoted to Karen Carpenter, to gardening, to family. Devoted in a way I could never understand to our blue collar hometown. I’m middle aged. She would be too if she were here. And now that it’s about to be evened out, the years she was here and the years she’s been gone, I find myself wondering more than ever: what’s the best way to remember a l

Drunk Dialing God

Back from the ICU, the bleating machines, the gray faces gathered around my sister’s bed before attempting sleep, I’d arrange three glasses before me on the kitchen table, as if setting up dominoes: several jiggers of vodka with anything poured over top, a beer, a shot to stopper in the stupor I craved. But if it didn’t take right away, I’d lay in bed, pinned like the cockroach my sister once caught scuttling out of our Barbie case then tacked to a board for seventh grade science class.

Breech – Philadelphia Stories

since it was halloween anyway, they carved a big jack-o-lantern grin just above my pubic bone and from inside that sinister smile they scooped you out, pumpkin seeds and all. i’d asked you to turn for months towards the light, towards the exit sign, towards that nice warm spot in me, breeching seeming not just a position but a breach in our contract that you’d enter the world not just loiter there, umbilical cord looped around your neck like a condemned man at the gallows w
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