This piece was retrieved from an old archive of my online writing—there will likely be some rough edges!
Read it if you want to read something about a boy turning into various minerals. I hope you love it. It’s probably my favorite story I’ve written so far.
My boy shows me his right eye become cardinine, seemingly impossible perfect cube that glows bright red in the morninglight. I try looking as if I might see another kind of inside-him: where tumble his dreams, tastes other than iron and stone, the memory of his own skin.
He says he still remembers the day his mother named the mineral in honor of her love for him, and his love for that red-winged flutter. How later he held that perfect cube in his mouth and tasted it, his mouth stained red for weeks afterward.
My boy thinks that might be why he is turning mineral now, but I tell him no, there’s no telling for these kinds of things. He cries copper-green. The mucus-gum in his mouth when he speaks looks like stalactites. His mouth is a cave: all I want to do is step inside.
This publication means a lot to me, as West Branch—and its editor, G.C. Waldrep—was one of the first magazines to offer positive, personal feedback on the stories I was submitting to them, even if they all came back as rejections. Those notes of promise meant a lot to me.
In other news, my chapbook/collection was named by Caketrain as a notable in their latest contest, which was an incredibly unexpected thrill. It sent me through a whirlwind of emotions—so close yet so far—but has since settled, leaving me incredibly grateful to Amanda & Joseph for their appreciation of my work. Such an honor.