It was a hot day in early September, a day when the air stood heavy around the wide railed porch where Oliver Birch sat in his usual spot, a white spindle backed rocking chair with Irena, his wife of 51 years, beside him. …

ID 127423824 © Rusty Elliott | Dreamstime.com
A man behind the counter hides
behind a leafy newspaper
oblivious to our disposable world.

Wandering across waxy wood
floors the scent of old days
and dust permeates our souls.

On the back wall stand three
cuckoo clocks, dark and lean
with only the past to mark,

mechanisms broken and hands
stuck at once upon a…

The paper blossoms with their amber eyes
have withered; their bodies collapsed on their hills;
their earthen wombs swollen and expectant
planted by those with wisdom to sow.

We wait until the sun leans westward
then pull the brown vines from their hills
shaking the small tubers from the roots;
the larger ones…

Melissa Carpenter

A bibliophile, writer of poety and prose.

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