Essay by Beth Richards
As I looked back, they sifted through the air, like ash, and resumed feeding.
As I looked back, they sifted through the air, like ash, and resumed feeding.
Although the price is right, leafing through piles of trash looking for a gem isn’t exactly efficient.
I’d been living in a mine field, it seemed, and now all the bombs were going off at once.
Sound like flesh warms the back of our necks, fills that space between vertebrae and skull.
One can be content with little in life, if that little is immense.