And/Both Magazine

A lot of magic is going on behind the covers of And/Both Magazine.

I recently learned of them from a fellow artist who thought my multidisciplinary style could be a good match for this publication. I submitted work and was pleased to have a poem and painting accepted, but the real pleasure came upon receipt of the issue itself (#6, “inhale/exhale”).

There is breathtaking artistry in every detail of the magazine. Some entries of verse are printed on vellum, allowing for collaboration with the visual art that follows. Other entries are tucked in as bookmarks, which inspire further interaction as they follow your progress over different entries. Even a moveable arrow on one page and an embroidery ribbon weaving through another remind you that you too are an active participant in this experience.

As a result, And/Both becomes a beautiful celebration of diversity and community. Each piece resonantes with its own unique and complex perspective, but an open dialogue continually buzzes amongst them, building commonalities. It is an endeavor that proves particularly cathartic in this latest issue, which focuses on current events related to the pandemic and civil unrest and injustice in the United States.

For more information about And/Both Magazine and for purchase of their issues, visit their website:

Rain Dance

Original piece in watercolor pencil, 1/21.
As yearning 
Yields its last steps
Circling the dust
Drum in hand
She arrives

Girl Fawkes
Christener of tin roofs
Oak groves
Cracked clay

Beckoning all
To drink in her cool
Clean mirth
Her resolve
Her faith

Until even 
The asphalt beams 
Under this
Coat of 


Growing Pains

Original drawing in pencil, 2020.
When I look at you
your eyes eclipsed
I wonder if you will
survive this molt. 

Every night is an
abandoned bathtub
where your body is
found floating
orphaned by both
land and sky.

Every day sinks its
grieving hooks in
dragging us along
the precipices that
fall from your head
to line the rooms.

Dad and I have
emptied out the
medicine cabinet
and cutlery drawers.

All that is left to do
is to take turns
sleeping on
the extra bed
next to you

watching the skin
writhe and fall from
your frame

hoping there will still
be something of you
left somewhere

A Suspension of Disbelief

Original Piece. 4′ x 6′, acrylic on canvas.
Over three years of tyranny plus months of quarantine and 
This morning I am peering at it all through a windshield of ash.

In an act of self-immolation, West Coast forests rage at us
Impressing upon our lungs the growing rarity of another breath.

When one man chooses to kneel on the neck of another 
What does it say of the altar, of our very faith?

How to revere a raised flag as its colors 
bleed out on the ground?

With the love of a mother.
With the outrage of youth.
With the hope of a child.