The nature of loss 
(Audrey Molloy)

Widow-makers, they call your boughs that plunge                    without warning, crush soft bodies beneath.  Yet I know you are not death but grief’s balled fist come down.  For seven years I decompose below your …

Bloom (Les Wicks)

Suburbs now have their community gardens. Husbands buried there turn the pages of books abandoned because the heroine fretted too much to actually do anything. This ambition to compost sees …

Animal (Kit Kelen)

a kind of creature my love comes of its own wilderness furry here and there dangling with suspended eye might have been a rock but moves and proves the eye …