Poetry
Summer 1987
1955
I sat at the stern of the gray boat my father guided off the muscle of the Chattahoochee and over bream beds and fern-choked water. I took him at his word: fish draw to […]
Poetry
Summer 1987
From Deaths That Travel with the Weather
Through stacks of prayers the dead abandon, old news and gray breath, past the reel of blood in its shells, blood in clouds and boats full of rain, where do the angels […]