I woke up yesterday. The war was still not over. My mother asked, What’s wrong with you? My brother simply, You’re a fuck up. My father said nothing. He was dead. Advertisements

My translation of Lutz Seiler’s story ‘Turksib’ was recently published thanks to the lovely folks at beautiful The White Review…you can read it here

A smell like summer or rather the spray one associates with summer beaches that peculiar sweet smell and how soon before one’s made something that never happened She smelled like spray or rather summer and I think she was So here’s a rose and here’s a note and here a boy and a girl before […]

Long the light, & still Hot. First reds, a yellowing In leaf Breeze on burnt grass In corners the shadows of wings * (this poem first appeared with Konundrum Engine Literary Review)

Eveningsong Slim sun-edged thumb Of Roman brick Umbered, undone This late valley dozing Under a late spring sun You still want what will not last Still before the blue At evening, sound, come * (this poem originally appeared in Oxford’s halfcircle poetry journal, Issue 2)

Without my having noticed Something Had changed Not that I could leave But could no longer stay Inside the small A glimpse, overheard Perfect my death word    

My contribution to Anke Becker’s “Heimweh” project has at long last finally arrived..thank you for reading