Selected Works

“VERIFIED SIGHTING #33: PRAGUE, 1979”

A short story published in winter 2023 with Del Sol SFF Review.

“For the first time in nearly eighteen years, someone had seen the King. The resulting report lacked concrete details, riddled instead with superlatives and italics and phrases like, ‘if you felt it, if you were there,’ concluding abruptly with a useless sentence: ‘if only there were words to describe the way the night itself bent around him, how the shadows gave into his touch, how my tongue grew heavy and too big for my mouth, and I had the strangest feeling I was in the presence of a god.’”

“FOUR OFFERINGS”

A fiction piece published in summer 2022 with The Raven Review.

“I held the dove’s wings—white as snow, like the children’s stories go—flat against her sides. She stopped struggling. Her amber eyes darted this way and that, breast heaving against my damp palms. I had been scared at first, too.”

“BEFORE I GO”

A flash fiction piece published in spring 2022 with Fifth Wheel Press.

“Sometimes I can find the feeling for a moment or two in the right book. But never in the real world, never in this world so utterly devoid of magic. Maybe it was here once and deemed us unworthy. Maybe we never had it at all. I don’t know.”

“OSTEOMANCY”

A short story published in summer 2021 with SORTES Magazine.

“You would have followed it, too. You think you are better than me, smarter than me, you think that your mind would never contort a man into a púca, that you would have never followed a slim dirt path, pale as bone. You are not better than me and your cards never turned to towers and you have never wanted to shake off your flesh.”

“VULPES REX”

A poem published in autumn 2021 with Vulnerary Magazine.

“We go to the cemetery to molt—we sit very still as the gardeners
pull away all of our dead things: rib by rib, finger by finger.

(and the little ones chewed on the bones)”

“TO SOW”

A short story published in autumn 2018 with Luna Luna Magazine.

“Fires and animal musk and the smell of a deep, dark and endless night under a full moon filled her nostrils. It was an ancient scent, from long ago. She had to run. She did not know this herself, not really—it was someone else who lived inside her, another voice from deep in her bones, her great grandmother’s or maybe her great-great grandmother’s, screaming in her head about other botched harvests, about the times before Christ came to Ireland, the years they did not have enough corn to make the offering.”