Dom was raised in Detroit, MI in a pink house her friend once described as the color of raw chicken. She remembers riding the DDOT bus home and never going pass the red house on her bike. She enjoys drag shows and using emphasis on the wrong syllables.
Dom can be found at one of three places: working, going to school or passed out over a half-written poem on her futon. She writes about the fractals of worlds she experiences between the characters she meets. She writes about growing up with her biological mother and her adopted mother (who is biologically her aunt) and the effect not having a two-parent household had on her life.
Because Dom struggles to remember things such as where she put her coat in the dead of winter; her poems serve as the snap shots she can’t seem to shake: the lingering moments. In her struggle to create a time capsule, she writes poetry.