First Move After the Year of Hangings
A slight terror detonates in the under-
insulated attic: a collection
of dead weeds, leaves dried brittle and heaped,
the former tenant’s useless harvest.
What facet of their form
did he love enough to gather
but not to U-Haul across this small town?Read more poetry by Stevie Edwards on our website.
Poems by Stevie Edwards!
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