2023

Whale mothers, witch mothers

Strange Horizons (October 2023)

When my skin touches salt water, I hear magic.

Smells of Brine, Witching

The Future Fire (August 2023)

Quiet have I lived at the border between

woods and sea.

dye me with black tooth color

Small Wonders (July 2023)

oh my darling mushroom witch,

prepare your dye bath for me.

heat your stained familiar cauldron in the fire.

2022

The Malachite Storm

Strange Horizons (June 2022)

The storm-seers failed to tell us

to await the malachite beetles.

We must thank them for this failure.

Two Beaches

Haven Spec Magazine (September 2022)

I want to show you the beach

that has been with me since I was in utero.

2021

Armor

The Future Fire (October 2021)

I have loved my armor too long

to feed it to the unhungry belly

of the recycler.

our translucent bodies

Mermaids Monthly (June 2021)

we have become translucent as jellyfish;

the water has changed us.

it happened slowly. over time I learned

the shape of my mother’s bones…

This poem received an honorable mention in the Rhysling Awards!

The Fisherwoman and the Queen of Gulls

Abyss & Apex (April 2021)

I‌ ‌love‌ ‌a‌ ‌woman‌ ‌whose‌ ‌feet‌ ‌are‌ ‌stone-scarred‌ ‌

on‌ ‌sharp-sheared‌ ‌beach‌ ‌granite.‌

She‌ ‌cries‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌gulls,‌

is‌ ‌razor-tempered‌ ‌as‌ ‌a‌ ‌swan.‌

2020

The Chanterelle and the Birch

Liminality (June 2020)

I hold a mushroom in the palm of my hand

and mycelium reach into my skin;

I stretch my arm out like a branch

and white bark peels back.

2017

We might be swept away, or lifted up, or drowned

Poetry on Buses (June 2017)

Sometimes we stand chest-deep in water and see

change, rippling toward us or rising with a white crest.

2015

Barnacles are my welcome mat

Poetry on Buses (August 2015)

The beach still smells like salt,

mud and stones and sea stars.