Author: Margaret Stetz

when poems creep beneath the soil there is no hope that they’ll resurface yet nourished on the blood that leaks from wounds or salt and water from a tear they will prove hardy demanding to survive in dreams and crawling out of holes years afterward emerging fully formed wings beating Read more

my first murder was by water when I let them drown the bird fallen from its nest and rescued, caged safe in our backyard the other children who ignored me, shut me out of games now circled me now paid attention can we touch it? can we take it out? Read more