I am working on a manuscript entitled Not Thoreau's Walden which is about my experience growing up in an isolated small town in Upstate, New York.


Excerpt from Overtime, short memoir

It’s almost as if capitalism grabs a hold of our sanity even in our last days. As if life is only dependent on our labor. Due to the elderly’s contribution to society, they deserve a manufactured, corporate paradise with everything synthetic for consumption and comfort.

“There’s a storm outside. You don’t have to go to work today,” Mama assures her.

“So I can sleep in?” the resident says as she drifts back into her subconscious.


Excerpt from Doodle On, short memoir:

A chandelier hangs in the dining room of my childhood home. The dining table is newly bought by Mom’s obsession with shopping. The table’s legs are columns with a history of the Greek or Roman past. I’m not Greek or Roman. A glass pig is hollow to fit all our pennies in. A bright pink dollhouse with bright pink dolly dresses is in the back of me. There are porcelain dolls on top of the China cabinet; Mom collects dolls, knick‐knacks, and plates. I’m sitting across from Dad, my feet barely touching the floor. I’m so small. Daddy is eating frosty flakes. I’m just sitting.

Featured in Telling Our Stories Press' ROLL Edition.


Excerpt from La Luz, short memoir:

It's March. You eat, sleep and awake inside a two‐story house with an acre of land on Plains Road in the village of Walden, New York. Dusk inches closer to the town– filled with farms and last year's gardens.

Next to your front door, your newest decoration to the Butler home sits and waits‐ a three‐foot high triangular glass bottle. The bottle is transparent maroon with three dimensional circles that surround as polka dots. Your house is filled with ceramic collectibles and glass vases but this is the only one cherished by your children.

Inside your closet, Rosa's sienna and white striped nylon dress is tucked in between your former laboratory technician jacket and a floral silk romper. From the Sixties, with one prominent vertical stripe in the center, many horizontal thick and thin stripes almost form an optical illusion. Worn foundation make‐up stains the rim of the dress' collar. The short‐sleeved dress sits on her shoulders; it covers her clavicle. Her skin radiates with the Sun of the Bronx and Puerto Rico. Her scent lingers on this dress– a faded combination of freshly brewed coffee and her last cigarette. No one else will wear this dress. Since Rosa departed, the dress is sacred. Su espíritu permanece en tu casa.

Featured in Muchacha's Brown Queen: Latina Voices of the 21st Century.