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When the snow geese fly to the warming marshes,when the ice melts on the pond in the wood,when the sweet breath of fresh-mown haylofts over us and settles on the fields,I will remember you have been a blessing,a quiet steady forceWe will sit at the kitchen table and…
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She toyed with the fake gold pen set the college had given her when she won Teacher of the Year. “I can barely handle one. A dozen…what would I do if I drank a dozen little cups of vodka. I’d probably prance naked down the hall.”
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My chin is half-eaten. My chest is gone. There is a rhythm to how each flame licks me. Like how you used to in the mornings before work. Before the coffee. Before the toaster. Before a rose clenched between your teeth and dancing.
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American girls who can rearrange your game of manhunt into a medieval queen’s court were rare in our part of Scotland at that time
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