Salt Lick A poem by Bonita Lini Markowski Salt Lick I call her mother. I am salt in her wounds: that she married him, didn’t know he was a drunk, that her father laughed at her wanting to go to... Continue Reading →
Waxing Moon A poem by Bonita Lini Markowski Waxing Moon I try to hold the moon in my hands like Nonni held her rosary; try to pass hard moon rocks through my fingers like holy beads. But three years after... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 