In the grease room’s dark (somewhere above the stacks of retreads and rings of stockpiled air filters and rough pine planks that sag under cans of every kind of paint failing to approximate a rainbow, where the top shelf’s a... Continue Reading →
Purple Thistle A favorite of bumblebees but hell on earth for her husband, it had a humbleness she loved and she stroked the tassel’s velvet wherever he figured clods or weeds. He knew only the bite of its bristle, uprooting... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 