He’s No Politic I’m No Saint; How We Often Step Into Meaning

Wrapped twice around a frail neck is the lace from my mother’s slipslipping further from where she ought to gogoing forward in the most domestic way  Pale in a pretty green dresswaves sway back and forth around me mashing and folding bending and molding to the perfect dirtydirt dinner taste of pebblesdark and dirtdirty fingernails peeling like the applesweContinue reading “He’s No Politic I’m No Saint; How We Often Step Into Meaning”