Braless
Papa pours himself black tea from the old iron kettle, probably thinking about stacking hay. He says I was bottle-fed cow’s milk. He’d...
The Leaves are Piling Up
against the stonewall siding and the white lattice fence out front. Years ago I would have raked them up and buried myself in the heap...
Citrus
I’d like to shade my sun-dried scalp and snap my joints under this tangerine tree, Climb down from this tall ladder, Pour my sack of...
