June- October 10/5 Dream of a summer camp: pick berries with kids. Lake. No breaks. Big old Forest Service hall. Mom
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You’ll dream of this, the finding-your-way by nose, down through a bulwark of salmonberries, outside of time, to the place where the
Field Notes: Worcester County, April Acorns sprout beards spongy-white as grubbing maggots. Iris and crocus give way to forsythia and hyacinth; violets
The primate pushes its knees against its mother’s stomach. Its eyes closed, it navigates by primordial attraction, slowly nudging and twisting its
On my last afternoon as a failed trophy wife, I sat opposite my husband in a windowless conference room. My life—as wife,
Paul arrived on a military hop from Anchorage to Juneau in his fatigues and camo jacket around noon on Tuesday. Because Pops
Slow smooth snow outside this window sculpts ridges: animal tracks, footprints, blade marks flaked away: we through the afternoon slept, woke to
Sundown the manure smell crusts hard over my car and Danny in his and Johnny Angel with his pickup, all three of
God, i’m thankful for the dew on the grass. for the praying mantis hidden there. for the hungry bird gathering the green
Flinch finally, the moths have left for the mountains. I watch horses being led from a fire. I feel made of driftwood.
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