Through golden hourglass I watch a determinedflickering fumbling bumble beethen attempt a self-soothing mumble“be here now”and note the tension swelling I till nails into summer’s bookend evethe same fingers that dig into marriageand baby’s thighsand natural family planninguntil fragile limbs fling ‘round my neckas the smallest little bird starts pulling I think how God mustContinue reading “Knocking”
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The Word Mill 