Two Poems by Ellen McGrath Smith
Younger, the infestation would have been loss drilling through my middle.
Younger, the infestation would have been loss drilling through my middle.
Nature is a noisy thing, and mammoths don’t walk lightly.
I notice buds late to their blossoming, a flaw that makes one realize sunlight offers no clues.
So, the unknown unknowns, as a man in a gray suit once enunciated.
Are humans any smarter than frogs in a pot?