karla k. morton: Chow Chow
It could be a religion, this relish—
what’s left over,
fall’s last stand
before the death-breath of frost.
August 31, 2024 · 17 Comments
Alice Friman: The Apricot Tree
I’m walking the white-washed steps
winding the hills into town. The odor—
wild thyme and spearmint. And halfway, look,
an apricot tree ablaze with summer, heavy
with fruit.
June 16, 2024 · 10 Comments
