Recent work
Psychopomp
No matter how many times I’ve asked her to say again what happened that evening, to tell me precisely, it’s like she fades a little, becomes not quite real, though I have no reason to doubt my mother has done what she says she has done.
Short fiction
Fall 2025
Snake & Submarine
Selected by Lauren Groff for the O. Henry Prize
Heart
I wanted the worst diagnosis for him, or no diagnosis at all. Nothing to muddle the decision.
I admitted this to Martha months later, my voice low and ashamed—if our unborn son had to be sick, I wanted the sickness to be bad. We’d found out something was wrong at the twenty-week ultrasound, the OB walking briskly into the unlit room, looking at the temporarily black monitor, staring through a glass darkly. She took the ultrasound wand, guided it over Martha’s naked abdomen, summoned the gray pulpy image of our developing child, curled asleep, and said, “There is something wrong with the heart of this baby.”
Short fiction
Spring 2023
Right Ascension, Declination
Grace reappeared one night in September during a blizzard. An arctic current had looped south, as far as where we were in Colorado, the beginning, perhaps, of a climate realignment; the storm arrived so early in the season that oaks and maples hadn’t yet lost their leaves, their branches weighted now with a new burden of snow.
Short fiction
Spring 2022
Snake & Submarine
Not long ago, a friend in California—call her Esmé—became severely ill with a rare and rapidly progressing cancer, and has been posting updates about her condition on a medical blog, which appears on my Facebook feed.
Short fiction
Winter 2021
Bullfrogs
He and his wife continued not in silence, but in something worse than silence. Pleasantries and logistics, the studied, uninflected decorum of strangers.
Short fiction
Fall 2021
Happy Jack
When it was too much to be alone, and when dreams of my father stormed my mind; when I felt the hot guilt of failure, imagined that sad way my mother sometimes looked at me, like she knew more about me than I knew about myself—I would call Katya up and go over to her place and find a little company.
Short fiction
Fall 2020
Loss and New Life in the Time of Covid
Anna is pregnant again, and with a girl. I can feel my daughter through Anna’s skin—the future pressing into the present—squirms and kicks that protrude across her distended belly. It feels like last time, she tells me. Similar sensations.
Personal essay
Spring 2020
Past work in Vice News, GOOD, etc.