[A post promised to The Wrathful Poetess.]
I write myself into narratives of paternity and dependence, of piquant sorrow and solvent despair, of silences and sunflowers.
The cucumbers are restless. And the tomatoes bloom.
I think next year I'll hand-sculpt a trellis for some grapes to vine.
4 years ago
1 comment:
Babies!
Post a Comment