Writing
As a writer, I play with language, genre, and form—always after a new way of saying.
I move between fiction, essays, poetry, and academic writing, blending the personal, the fictional, and the theoretical, often inhabiting the spaces between them.
For me, writing is more than expression. It is a way of paying attention, of thinking through experience, and of discovering what I did not yet know I knew.
Everything else I do begins here.
War and Cancer
April 2026. At the Institute of Oncology, a long corridor ending in a closed window overlooking the hospital’s inner courtyard can accommodate about twenty women. Today, there are three times as many in front of the office where breast cancer patients come for their regular check-ups. I take a broken chair, so the good ones are left for the women who came in pain. In my third hour of waiting for my mother’s doctor, I start recycling the air I exhale. In a cotton tote bag from the last writers’ conference, I carry the latest scans of my mother’s abdomen, confirming the movement of metastases from her thoracic vertebrae to her pelvis and liver.
An excerpt from the essay written as part of the project Not a Fairytale, but… for the Association Krokodil
Featured Work
Dandelion in the Wind
A Chapbook
Dandelion in the Wind is a sensual love story of a coastal wind in a small port town who falls in love with Dessa, a young woman uncertain about her identity. An allegorical story about love imagined and the illusions we hold onto after relationships are over. It speaks to the lovers who have experienced the improbability of lasting happiness, the impossibility of overcoming differences and obstacles. The narrative is lyrical and rich in sensory details.
Seek the Beauty, Want the Passion, Hold the Wild
(or What I Learned about My Desires while Reading Melissa Matthewson’s Tracing the Desire Line)
An Essay
“I’ve never cleaned as much as I am cleaning now during the COVID-19 pandemic. Obsessively, as if the virus is everywhere around me, as if I can fix the world with a steam mop and a disinfectant spray. In this surreal reality, I am fully domestic.
Domestic as devoted to home duties and pleasures, the dictionary explains. And I wonder, if I find no pleasures in such duties, does it make me less domestic?
A woman writer needs the freedom to devote herself to pleasures that feed her mind, body, and heart.”
Inside Silence
An Essay on Voice
“To some people, the word silence suggests the absence of sound. But silence is not soundless. Is silence the absence of noise? There are words that, although clearly defined in dictionaries, don’t hold meaning. Absence is one of them.
In the opening of When Women Were Birds, Terry Tempest Williams described the days following her mother’s death. “Her absence became her presence”, she wrote. And I thought intensely about this sentence.
The absence of noise inside my cottage became the presence of many different sounds.”
