That morning she stood in the kitchen
and considered the chair, its ignoble lines,
its wood of no interest or value, no grain
to coax out with a brush, no grace to enhance
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Dime Store Erotics
By Ann Townsend
The dim gift store shimmers with candy bars and cheap key chains swinging. The night bus checks out at nine; you can still climb on board if you abandon the […]
House by a Green Sea
By Ann Townsend
You are here now on the bed with me: after five hours of sleeplessness we are tumbled like exhausted runners beneath an eggshell sky. Pressed to the pillow you moan […]
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