Charlotte Annie

More Winter Than Feather

is a story about a girl worn by the swell of the tide. She is like a ventriloquist, or a clock that doesn’t tell time, and when her baby is the size of a peach, she still calls her Plum; and when they open her cervix and scrape the baby out, she knows that like the fireflies dying in a jar on her nightstand, everything she’s been collecting is both dead and alive, because like a ground more frozen than feathers, even God can’t hustle time.

Eulogies for the Living

is a collection of letters that reads just a little lower than the angels–across the walls of Westerly and Maine, children like ice in the bruising summer sun, mothers long since departed. A work of creative non-fiction, it rejects our public and chronic flirtation with death through storytelling, a sheepless pasture that calls its own bluff, paying tribute to the living as well as the dead.

Passing New Hampshire & Other Poems

is a collection built on Every Hungry Night—moon snails softening clam shells as a wedge of swans cuts across the turning summer sky, and You Feel Like That—like watching all the fish drain from your net, your mother, a ewe folding between the skin of lambs, so that when she’s gone, you will silently name her, throw her ashes into the wind and call her Dawn—watch as she glides, swan-like through the burning mountain air.