Everything, issue 37, Poetry

THIS GROUND by NELL SMITH

For a time, I forgot the skin of white pines, chapped from Maine winters, their sap seeping through the bark. I forgot, by loving the dogs of Guanaja that barked from the docks of stilt homes as I passed, parting the water in a dinghy.  By loving snow crowding a spit in Alaska, the stones […]

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