She licks at the hot metallic flood filling the void where her wisdom tooth should be. Maybe if she’d never had them taken out, she would have known not to trust a kind mask with fists made for fighting.

He’s cooking dinner now.

Singing fills the kitchen as he sploshes red wine onto raw mince. The chopped onions make his eyes cry. He glugs from the bottle. “That’ll take the edge off”  he says to his steamed-window twin.


Published in Paragraph Planet, June 2016


Being a kangaroo is preferable to being human.

No longer black and blue, but a grey-brown mix as comforting as winter socks . Solid thighs are now an unmocked virtue. My baby is enclosed within me again. As if we are one. His warm heaviness brings me peace.The males box and kick just the same; but only with each other. When the memories rush in uninvited, my kangaroo eyes can’t cry.

I leap and forget.


Published on Paragraph Planet, April 2016