I’m extremely pleased to announce a new chapbook of my poems, rooted, recently published by dancing girl press.

Recently, a student asked me what word would I use to describe who I am. I took a deep breath, allowing it to swell inside me. As I slowly exhaled, the word that first arrived was: writer. I said to him, I’m not much for labels or defining myself in just one way. I am/we are constantly shifting. So to settle on one word, one sound seems too static and form-fitting. I like things loose.

I told him that words saved my life. Actually, I told him that poetry saved my life. To be able to cough out the language stirring inside me is something I feel grateful for every single day. And it does feel like coughs. These deliberate seizures of my body, pushing out my germs and granulated stories and memories. This particular collection of poetry contains prayers extracted from behind my bones, a dialogue between distracted lovers, a letter to susan sontag and a mix tape to be played to a disemboweled gender.

Thank you to dancing girl press for supporting the experimentation of my body’s mother tongue.