He handles dirt as if it were a
god, tilling it daily for his native
plants. At dusk, he can be seen
bending over to put the last
touches on his canvas, his
desire to rest imminent.
More from Issue #1
Kangaroo by Claire T. Feild
Our animalistic eyes padlock, meteoric, as the car makes a straight shot down the dusty road from the farm’s naughty realm: the kitchen table the place where flies entertain the smallest human…
Caninomy by Lynn F Hoffman
(caninomy, kay-nine-oh-mee n. the custom of naming a person after their dog) Ranger’s dad meets Rusty’s mom on the path in the park where the beech tree flexes over the little iron…
Haughty by Claire T. Feild
proud she stands, the musicality within, for no one sits on haunches to feel the aloof wind she sends our way, the wind’s decadent force causing us to laugh.
Eighth Avenue by Lynn F Hoffman
The shine on the fenders curves like the shine on her boots as she walks knee-forward on Eight Avenue sidewalk toward the car door that’s opened for her as her beauty deserves,…