A Kind of Evolution.

Same Women. Same Wasps. More considered words.

Welcome to The Velvet Ant!

For me, poetry and performance both began in the natural world: a clumsy June bug and me, sharing the stage in an empty backyard amphitheater. In the final act, the blue jay enters, eats, and leaves. I take the bows alone.

In my writing now, I let nature tell all of the story: the inherited pain, devotion, and the ruthlessness of need.

Not pretty. Not comforting. But as sickly-sweet as the smell of salt-spray roses you lean in to inhale.

Come.
Lean in.