The Bread Line Bread lines on sidewalk cracks start and end with silent smugglers. Queued, ranks of worker ants scurry to moist nests in fissures, valets to white-rice eggs, nothing matters but next. Ants begin with burdens larger than their bodies. When something needs doing, she does it – skirting roadblocks, swerving to avoid gridlock. […]Read more "The Bread Line"
White Girls Cede to other women skin tints of caramel, taffy, and fancy maple, heady Jamaican vanilla extract in amber glass. The glow of copper wire. Oxides, raw or burnt sienna. The roughed-up walnut heartwood deepened on roofs of the Lower Ninth Ward. The songs black poets sing. Eyeball my elbows. Cabbage whitenesses, garden spawn. […]Read more "White Girls"
Left with the Care of the Farm The banty rooster’s strident call is light years from grinding war, spinning news, suspicions of sects and warring politicians. His raucous bluster reminds me of a push-button toy gargling squawks only a child enjoys. A hawk whistles across the pasture. The rooster heard it, a wild away. He […]Read more "Left with the Care of the Farm"
An Uncommon Prayer for the Farm after Brian Doyle This morning three cracked and cleaned-out ducks eggs rested in mud. The ducks ignore the coop they share with broody hens. A raccoon slinked through the night, egg eater who slipped under the guard dog’s radar. First petition: safety. Yellow jackets nest in the propane tank […]Read more "An Uncommon Prayer for the Farm"
m.nicole.r.wildhood’s work has appeared in The Atlantic, The Atticus Review, Five, xoJane and elsewhere. She seeks to be an advocate for those experiencing mental or emotional distress, currently writes for Seattle’s street newspaper Real Change and is at work on a novel and two full-length volumes of poetry. It’s Not Alzheimer’s In the dwindling visits, they said […]Read more "It’s Not Alzheimer’s"
She never hails me friendly over the fence, it is always a conspiracy. She clucks my name quietly from her garden like a secret, her tight curly hair, a dark comb and cape. “Can you hear the boys crowing?” she asks, a pained apology in her eyes. “I didn’t know what they were, but now […]Read more "nested"