Imperfect, newborn poems that were written simply for the sake of writing.

Musings on Gen Z's blanket opposition to em dashes on the sole basis of thinking it's an AI tip-off.

An attempt to make sense of AI’s rise without losing sight of what makes us human.

Pregnant grappling, several years’ pause, and a return to reflect.

Following my thoughts as I notice the leaves.

This year’s NaPoWriMo wrung just a few poems out of me.

An updated-almost-daily log of the poems I’ve written for NaPoWriMo, April 2022.

That muse is always showing up at the most inopportune moments.

Motherhood is inescapably my entire life now.

Finding hope in the middle of a pregnant gloom.

A day of quiet, mail, and Italian-food-colored stains.