“Sea Song”
I’d sing you a better lullaby, babygirl, if these chipped walls cradled soft notes right. They sag and give, the way Mama’s voice does when she tries to sing the doxology. Church never held no cradle for me, but you know how She grew
All posts by Alexandra Villamore
“The Silo”
Silo number nine looked like the Tin Man’s head, bearded with the shed that bristles Management Only The fog clung to the roof like a laurel, wreathed with six dollars more the next Friday. Walking down the corn was a grown man’s job, and Your
“Kitchenette”
Missing you is easy when The rim of my red plastic bowl Chips gawkish fractures into the egg in my palm. Maybe I miss the porcelain bowls you picked out when I was seven. Maybe Inland Empire Eggshells just crumple easier into my bowl-bound Flour