by Rose Mary Boehm I know I have to do some shedding. Can’t go into a long, enfeebling winter with the weight of oceans, moors, beaches, dark woods, and stark horizons. I suppose I ought to shed my lightweight roots and put down the other kind, sturdy and reliable, holding a tree that tries to rise…
by Betsy Martin One sits reading, his face a meeting ground of several tectonic plates that collide to form his private himalayas. Another sits in the bedroom and sews. She tries to stitch past onto present by making for her daughter a pair of neon-orange- and-brown checked bell-bottoms, this being…