Author Archives: wdr staff

At the Marsh

She walked one chilly late-
fall day along the marsh
when the brittle milkweed pods
were spilling their fluff.

The ungenerous air
had stiffened and slit open
and the yolky-thick,
late-afternoon light
oozing out
obscured her vision.
She strained her eyes
and stumbled.

She wondered at the give of time,
how it could shrink
to a white fist,

or spread its fingers wide
in fragrant petals,

as it had when she’d
stood near this spot in spring
under a blossoming tree
and stayed there
several years―
the air was so buoyant and warm,
the world
spread out, abundant,
in the grass beneath.

The Briar Cliff Review, 2017

By Whatever Name

As I slice Jerusalem artichokes for a stir-fry, you tell me how this tuber, from a sort of sunflower, got its name. Samuel de Champlain in 1605 arrived on Cape Cod and found Native Americans cultivating it. They called it sunroot, since the flowers twist their necks to face the sun. Champlain brought it back… Continue Reading

Rare Earth

We lie naked on the bed and you’re telling me about terbium and erbium, and other rare earths, like lanthanum and praseodymium. My hand rests on the soft plain of your gut with its brown wheats and your legs extend elegantly in two tapering ridges. My own body undulates gently to the horizon. You tell… Continue Reading

At the End of the Sofa

I remember my mother, every afternoon would either be reading or cooking. She would pick up a book quickly, like a snack, and sit at the end of the sofa. Honeyed sunlight flows in over her right shoulder. A subtle smile simmers. Then in the kitchen she hums to herself and feels the knotty, pitted… Continue Reading

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