By Keith Burton i was stretching my legs on the littoralgiving names to the shapes of the cloudsthat swam across the lake’s reflectionwhen trouble came crawling on eight legs. help me across he asked with a period. i knew better; i had an owl’s acuity.no can do, i know you…
by Mary E. Kendig Mothers aren’t perfect — not by far. Some can be stern and uncaring — even “unpresent,” while some are so loving they smother you until you can’t breathe, Or praise you until you start to believe you’re completely and utterly perfect in every way, like she…