My daughters (ages 4 and 2) on Inauguration Day 2021.

This is what I remember about the morning after Election Night, November 9 2016:

It felt like the beginning of a horror film. The streets of Silverlake were eerily quiet. I found parking easily at the coffee shop next to Rudy’s on Sunset Blvd that was usually too crowded with hotter, cooler people who weren’t almost 9 months pregnant. But this morning no one was there but me and the sad barista who could barely smile when I walked in. The sun was already harsh. Nothing sounded good. Not even water. My tailbone was killing me. I just wanted to…


(Short Fiction — first performed at Denver Write Club, 2019)

The best part was when she was inside me. Swimming, floating, breathing underwater in my safe, perfect, mother ocean. God I miss the ocean…

But then she came out into this world, and now everything can hurt her.

They say you die when you become a mother, that you should have a funeral for the woman you once were so you can accept the new woman you are now. It’s on my list to plan my own funeral, but I don’t really have anyone to invite.

I used to have…


(first performed pre-Covid at We Still Like You, Buntport Theater, Denver 10/19)

So I hope bad things become less powerful when you say them out loud cuz I have a little list — I love lists — of shame before I tell my one story that I’ve never told, the one that haunts me, has made me an anxious mother. I’m even procrastinating here. Here goes the list:

I’m ashamed of:

-What I can’t control, which is silly, like I’m ashamed of my mom trying to figure out the hi tech soda machine at Five Guys. I want to help…


(written pre-Covid on 9/18)

I have three hours before Seylah gets home and who knows how long I have before Nya wakes up and I am afraid of how afraid I am to write given my post-birth brain. I am rusty, to say the least. So. I could meditate? Too much coffee. I could pray and ask the goddesses to help me write my way to a place where I can write about something more than me and my little troubles and perfect kids? Ok I went and tried that. Apparently I’m still stuck writing about myself sadly. I am…


(First performed on stage at The Narrators show in Denver, 3/19)

Yesterday my ex husband emailed asking if i’d send him some vocals in 10 hours for a song in a trailer for a big movie about diamonds …a rap song that needs a hook, a chorus. Every part of me screaming no no no, you have a show, a deadline, jobs to find, kids to raise! So naturally I said Yes! We need the money.

We are broke. Like food stamps, WIC broke.

Like all day yesterday I’m on the couch farting picking my nose hyperventilating PMSing emailing UC…


“Forgiving is giving up any hope for a better past.” — Anne Lamott

2018. I am in the bright, cold, long, court hallway sitting on a hard bench outside the restraining order courtroom when I get the text that it wasn’t him who put a book on my car windshield in the middle of the night with no note; on my car parked too close to my new baby’s bedroom. Too close to our bedroom. To our home. How did he know where I lived now? Didn’t I do everything I could, including losing all my time and money and…


Morning Pages at noon from an insomniac mother of two toddlers:

7:35pm last night. Still light out. Pink clouds. Another shooting. 4 shots fired. Heard it, thought it was fireworks. Wanted it to be fireworks. Which I despise but trust I don’t understand why people love them so I’m letting it go. Our evening walks in the double stroller are what I look forward to. Marking the end of a day. Beginning of a night. To find myself again. And him. I saw the football kids screaming running flooding away from the park in every direction. I worry about them…


Dear Jack, my former regular Masseuse at Barai Thai Spa,

My therapist said it would help give me courage to finally call the police if I wrote you a letter. I should just stop being a punk and call 911 and they will come and arrest you and shut down the whole place. But then I think about how hard that will be for you. How I don’t want to hurt anyone just because I got hurt. How I don’t want to be another white woman using my race and privilege to bring harm to a brown man. How you…


(Flash fiction prompt: write a story in the form of a fable)

Once there was a girl who listened to them and not to herself. She couldn’t remember a good time in her past. She couldn’t’ remember ever having a good dream. A happy care free time? She couldn’t recall. Yes, happy moments. But all clouded by her own mind. Her own critic. Named: Elvira.

Elvia, her alter ego. The one who talks down to her. The bad Wolf. Elvira invited herself everywhere. In every situation. The girl didn’t want her to come. She pleaded with her. But the girl couldn’t stop her. She was two people in one. The person she…

Baby Luck

writer, filmmaker, lyricist, @unsentshow host

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