Poetry
Autumn 1988
Pheasant Season
They are out there to be killed. My blood jumps for the chase. My eyes look wide of the road. They are searching the corn rows, the wind-sheltered draws. My […]
Poetry
Autumn 1988
Sunday, Reading Late, September 28
Rain, the humid day. A night not sleeping. I see my mother’s small place, the narrow stair. The carpet where she bends to clean. There it is humid too. The […]