The Long Sleep
She waits there shelling peas, in green-grass sweetness, sinking-sun forgiveness, while men with rifles march and mill round her. The […]
She waits there shelling peas, in green-grass sweetness, sinking-sun forgiveness, while men with rifles march and mill round her. The […]
I think by “good” he means “sexy.” Poems about stopping on back roads in the car with a bigger front
My mother lives in a little yellow cottage that rests in the tall shadow of Grandfather Mountain. At night, she
There’s something about a brick against a broad window that seems to make everything break. Who knows where he got
Bootle Used to been you could buy beer up at Bootle’s bootleg liquor store. You could get what you needed
Along the two-lane blacktops of my childhood we stopped to buy watermelons. Mother thumped them, listening for that deep, ripe