For Linda Schandelmeier
Dusk in the arctic whistled me
out of bed. I felt its feathers
brushing by. Moon pink in the west;
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The Third Walk: Mckinley Park Hotel to Mount Healy Overlook
By John Morgan
Wind in a bush gives me a start. Moose sign, but no moose, no bear. I whistle a Dvořák serenade—calm fatalist—against my fear. Helped by the wind, I rise above […]
Neptune’s Daughter
By John Morgan
Two sons come home on a bus, but she’s unaccounted for, left behind at the shore. I chide the lady driver who should have counted. And then—cartoons of fish debating […]
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