Johnson grass,
wild lettuce,
white puff
of thistle–
untended, the ditch,
low border
between
upper mowings–
Keep walking
More from the ditch
Poetry
The Brand by Steven Perry
The smell of alcohol and burnt flesh filled the kitchen air I glanced at the long thick piece of iron that laid calm on the blistering red stove. I was…
PoetryGrave Robber by Lianne Kamp
I crawl under the blanket of evening and press my ear into the soft ground – listen for the voices that were silenced here eyes cloaked and soul exposed –…
PoetryPrammed by Michael M. Marks
Prammed over the cracks, I was the pride of my neighborhood sidewalk, until the neighbor girl cut my golden curls, which never grew back, and I became a has-been before…