i want so much

[A single page mini zine made with black pen on white paper. The cover is a mason jar full of maple syrup with white spots on the surface of the syrup.]

[A pair of hands passing the mason jar to another pair of hands. There is a ribbon tied around the top. It says, "Last semester, my classmate gave me a jar of maple syrup as congratulations for graduating.]

[The jar is opened, a spoon drizzling some syrup from up high. It says, "She made it herself at her family's sugar house in the foothills, and it was the most delicious maple syrup I've ever tasted."]

[A fluffy haired person sticking a spoon in their mouth with a delighted expression. Above their head is a mug, a cake and a plate of bacon and waffles. It says, "I wondered what I could use this special treat for. Coffee? Baked goods? Over bacon and waffles? Nothing this good could be allowed to go to waste."]

[The jar sitting on a countertop in front of a bottle, a spoon holder, and a salt and pepper shaker set. It says, "so I set it aside, waiting for the perfect moment to break it out."]

[A closeup of the jar. The maple syrup has white spots floating on the surface. It says, "I waited too long. One day I woke up to find my wonderful syrup full of white spots, spores that devoured my treat before that perfect moment could ever come."]

[A spoon overflowing with maple syrup. It says, "I guess that "perfect moment" would never really happen, anyways. Rainy days are harder to predict than weather apps would have you believe. I should have enjoyed it while I still had the chance. Is there a lesson in all this? You tell me. It was a shame, though. It really was the best maple syrup in the world.]

[A mini-zine made with black ink on white paper. The cover is a simple illustration of river waves crashing over rocks and grass. Little fluff balls float above.]

Summer Snowfall

[Handwritten text with a stylized illustration of a river below it.]

Rocks bite at my heels

And a desert grows behind my teeth,

My beating heart drumming

A thrashing tempo into the sunlight.

Somehow the dark

Will never catch up to me.

[Handwritten text with an illustration of three branches, bearing few leaves, surrounded by floating fluff balls above it]

Salicaceae Salix, they're called

The willow trees that line the river-

Looking up the seeds blow through the air

Drifting, aimless,

Dogging my footsteps

To settle, gentle, on my outstretched fingers.

Somehow the dark

Will never catch up to me.

[Above the text is an illustration of a bicycle tire with sprouts of grass and wildflowers. There are small roots below the surface of the earth. Below the text are bigger, thicker roots that look like trees.]

My body trembles, delicate

Riding the wind kicked up

By careless bikers & pounding feet.

[The text is split above and below an illustration of a millipede and a salamander burrowing in the earth, surrounded by fine roots.]

Where my ribs land will bloom branches

Sweeping towards murky waters,

Where my skin falls finds careful comfort

Centipedes & newts & their baleful spawn

Home in my snaking veins.

[A hand holding a pile of dirt from which grows two flowers, surrounded by floating puff balls. Below it, a stylized illustration of a river.]

Toes dug deep in river mud

And voice turned to drifting seeds,

Let me sleep here,

Let me sleep

[Above the text are branches with sparse leaves, below is a person lying on their side in a river, their back to the reader. Puff balls float between the images and the text.]

& Somehow the dark