Salt ruins. her sideways glance shaped Lot’s new memorial: preservative defiance statuesque, seasonal dress. the apple, salty too. savory flavor behavior- aspirate fruit’s juice yet renders water fatal – not a drop. perfect crust earth shell, temperatures of hell. salt packed wounds are primal scream extractions, quench of infection with a healing sting. prism prison…
On the slope that leads to a shale rock drop, I once of late, raked a path to the opening, which I think is, in two seasons, dismissed as thicket. The strawberry vines had overtaken my camellias and I moved them up to the edge of the wood for the bunnies to graze on, and…
By the close of the evening, there were nine newborn pups. They squeaked and moaned in mews, Olive’s orchestra, and my Ele in her blue birthing gloves bent over the blue whelping box. She delivered alone, with a confidence and gentle authority that eased the event’s urgency. She brightened meeting my face, both of us…
