Micaela Michalk

Micaela Michalk is an emerging writer from Ohio, though she is currently studying a master’s in counselling in the UK. She has a BA in Psychology from Malone University, where she also studies creative writing. Previous publications include the poems "Pas De Deux" in 30N, "The Hospital" in Polaris, "Holding the Universe Together" in The Scriblerus, and "Fearfully and Wonderfully Made," "Disillusioned," and "What is Art" in The Elevation Review. Her poems "My Winter Prayer," "My Wish for Healing," "The Ocean Inside Me," "The Crossing Bridge," and "I Miss You, Valentine" were recently accepted for publication in Quillkeepers Press mental health anthology. She also had her short story "Ashes Ashes" published in the Incendiary anthology by Weasel Press.

The Birth of the Banshee

I’ve always loved cemeteries, but my parents said I was tempting fate. Every time I cut through the graveyard to walk home from school, my mom would be waiting on the porch, hand covering her mouth as if she had held her breath since the bell rang. She somehow always knew the days I took the shortcut. Her pale face beckoned me inside quickly, lest a spirit should have followed me.

Micaela Michalk

Micaela Michalk is an emerging writer from Ohio, though she is currently studying a master’s in counselling in the UK. She has a BA in Psychology from Malone University, where she also studies creative writing. Previous publications include the poems "Pas De Deux" in 30N, "The Hospital" in Polaris, "Holding the Universe Together" in The Scriblerus, and "Fearfully and Wonderfully Made," "Disillusioned," and "What is Art" in The Elevation Review. Her poems "My Winter Prayer," "My Wish for Healing," "The Ocean Inside Me," "The Crossing Bridge," and "I Miss You, Valentine" were recently accepted for publication in Quillkeepers Press mental health anthology. She also had her short story "Ashes Ashes" published in the Incendiary anthology by Weasel Press.

The Birth of the Banshee

I’ve always loved cemeteries, but my parents said I was tempting fate. Every time I cut through the graveyard to walk home from school, my mom would be waiting on the porch, hand covering her mouth as if she had held her breath since the bell rang. She somehow always knew the days I took the shortcut. Her pale face beckoned me inside quickly, lest a spirit should have followed me.

Back to Author Index