When the grass is still matted down / from a body, you comb it over each day / so it will stay in shape; you mold to it,
By Ryann StevensonHe’d planted his daughters there, but they’d borne no fruit. He called it a farm though that was the exact thing is wasn’t.
By David Connerly NahmA woman plants / my name in her bone / but will not tell me / when rain is coming
By Hafizah Geter© 2014 Blunderbuss Magazine. All rights reserved.