I search the blue dawn for her fire. She scents of smoke and burnt matches. I steer her back to the house. My stepfather will wake soon, demand bread and tea, snatch her by…
Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
I search the blue dawn for her fire. She scents of smoke and burnt matches. I steer her back to the house. My stepfather will wake soon, demand bread and tea, snatch her by…