Non-Fiction

Anticipation is vulnerability. The looking-forward to small pleasures was getting him through these dark days of lockdown.

Marrying the kindest man you’d ever met still felt like a caging, only this time it was you who turned the key.

These days in every direction I look, the world is falling apart. Fires and floods and extreme temperatures. A global pandemic. Almost 100 million refugees in the world seeking safe haven…

I mourn for the words of nobodies who had vital lessons or exceptional stories to tell, but they died, and their words were never found.

I am hugging a tree, grounded with roots descending deep into the earth, blood as sap circulates and nourishes my body.

There once was a boy named Max. Not just an ordinary boy, but a boy who could fly.

As your elder’s trunk snapped, you turned and ran, like a terrified child unsure which way the sky was falling.

I remembered you on stage in Montreal with your guitar. How could you have picked up that gun?

My uncle once brought me fishing at his gun club, another family conspiracy to masculinize me. We were deep in what some locals call Swamp Yankee territory…