I’m a writer, editor, educator, and witch1 living in Tiohtià:ke/Mooniyang (colon-ly known as Montréal). Er. Colonially. You know what I mean.

My first chapbook of poetry, this dying body, will be released in June 2022 with Rahila’s Ghost Press.

My other writing has been published in Plenitude MagazineThis Side of WestNonBinary Review, Briarpatch Magazine, and a few other places. I have a short story in Nameless Woman: An Anthology of Fiction by Trans Women of Color, and I wrote a chapter of Turn This World Inside Out: The Emergence of Nurturance Culture with Nora Samaran. I also edit with Room magazine and The Malahat Review, have mentored trans, non-binary, and Two-Spirit youth through the Gender Generations Project, and currently teach writing workshops to youth with the Quebec Writers’ Federation.

Artistic rendering of Serena Lukas Bhandar, a smiling woman with brown hair and olive skin, wearing a flowery scarf
  1. Yes, I’m a practicing witch! No, I do not eat children! I can’t tell if that idea is more racist or transmisogynistic! Okbye.

Category: Nonfiction

  • Into the Black Hole

    Photo credit: Jeremy Thomas, Unsplash

    In Einstein’s theory of general relativity, the event horizon is the region in space around a black hole—the “point of no return” beyond which nothing can escape the gravitational pull, not even light. If you were to watch someone fall into a black hole, as they crossed the event horizon their body would seem to […]

  • The Heels

    A short essay imitating the style of “The Knife” by Richard Selzer. Buying high-heeled shoes from the Women’s department can be an arduous and challenging task. The difficulty increases when you are a masculine-presenting person experimenting with androgynous dress for the first time.

  • I love my hair / I hate my hair

    My hair has always been coarse—sand and salt and pine needles bound into black keratinous strands. It sprouts and surfaces, growing not just from my scalp, but everywhere I have skin. My hair has always been with me. Even in my earliest years it was there, a seed waiting for spring, a line of chemical […]