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Poetry: TRIMMING THE APPLE TREE
The smell of the branch's former life was sweet; the blade quivered as if beneath a spell. The sawdust sparkled as it lightly fell, spinning like motes and landing at my feet.Related Stories:Problems...
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Poetry: STILL
A single crow, in grass, astride the ribcage of a doe, as though it rode the timbers of a hull. The wind picks at what's left with every pass.Related Stories:Music & Poetry Join Investigative...
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Poetry: Toward Evening
On Shakespeare's birthday the apple blossoms burst open like candles on our ancient tree. It was their white that caught my eye at first, full of a waxy light that came to be shell pink or coral when...
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