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I work in nonfiction because nothing is more curious or exhilarating than real life.

 “Somewhere between chance and mystery lies imagination, the only thing that protects our freedom…”  - Luis Buñuel




Book Review: Permafrost by Eve Baltasar

Rain Taxi, 2021

Eva Baltasar’s well-paced, debut novel opens with a glimmering scene of existential crisis: the narrator is standing on the roof of a building, contemplating suicide. “If surviving is what it’s all about, maybe resistance is the only way to live intensely.”

20 years ago.jpeg

Twenty years ago, a cancer reprieve for my husband on one of the country’s most terrible days

The Washington Post, 2021

Was it over? I felt joy, of course, but had lived so firmly in the grip of denial that relief barely registered.



River Teeth Journal, 2021

“What kind of urn do you have in mind?” 


“No need,” I tell the funeral director. “My mother was a potter.”


The Route of My Escape

Blood Tree Literature, 2020

Crossing the Talamanca Range for the first time, heading to Puerto Limón on a rickety train while devouring a mango, I watch vertical peaks melt into the Caribbean. Farther on, banana plantations settle the sultry valley once owned by United Fruit, like a page out of One Hundred Years of Solitude. “Oh, this is why I came.” 



Haibun Today, 2019


For a time, he flew into our side door. Made a habit of hurling himself, red chest and wingspan smashed to two dimensions by the windowpane. 


Even a Hollow Object Will Displace Water and Air

Speculative Nonfiction, 2021

I thought I was writing a piece about resistance. But I came to see the writing more genuinely concerned with negative space.


Henry Street

Flatbush Review, 2020

Not long ago, I went to a concert by a folk singer who used to live in the apartment above ours, in Brooklyn Heights, where I grew up. His songs were funny and genuine and his guitar-playing beautiful in the way you’d expect after decades of composition and performance. Midway, he sang a selection from his first record, which I’d played over and over again as a girl.


A Legacy of Falling

Brevity, 2019

In the last few months of her life, when she could no longer get out of bed without falling, my mother told her nighttime caretaker that she had contemplated throwing herself from the subway platform into an oncoming train. 



River Teeth Journal, 2017

“Cheerful!” she said, “What is it?” Then recognizing the compact rows of marigold trophies lining spray upon spray arcing over the yard, “Oh, kerria, that was my mother’s favorite.” A moment of silence for one mother’s mother gone twenty years.


Coming soon! Stay Tuned. 

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