by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
by Lisa M. Gott Heavy clouds creep acrossforgotten lands — a storm is coming,blowing the tumble weedsof my own destructionacross the never-ending fieldsof a place once called home. Parched, the soil cries out,O, clouds, rain down on me,wash away this decay so that blades of glory may rise up and reachtoward possibility. Blackness circles — a…
by Lisa M. Gott Dried tendrils of overgrown grasssing out into the wind — We have a story to tell. Tucked beneath their blanket,spotted earth painted with blood and tears;droplets of dew encase secretsof battered and bruised indentionsfrom heavy steps scarring soil,but like a seashell, their cries remain;head to earth,…