Month 3:11
In the auto showroom, I estimate how many petrochemicals are fueling the yuletide display — one artificial tree, mid-sized. by Therese L. Broderick
Month 3:10
His answer / could be Yes / could be No / Nay / or / Yea / He reflects, reviews, opens debate, closes discussion, his indecision akin to miniblinds (maybe) Venetian. by Therese L. Broderick
Month 3:9
From her kitchen chair, she listens to the wind. Sugar sifter. From a room upstairs, she listens to the wind. El train. From the cellar door, she listens to the wind. Penny whistle. Her only brother, all winter in bed, coughs & coughs & coughs. A four-line fiction by Therese L. Broderick
Happy Thanksgiving!
Today I give thanks for poetry, poets, metaphors, the moon, and more… by Therese L. Broderick
Month 3:8
Week by week, wind wears away the masks of forest leaves, exposing the ravaged heads, those enormous vacant nests. by Therese L. Broderick
Month 3:7 (Blue Moon)
Be among peoples who believe their future crouches behind them, not yet seen or heard; and their past splays before them, already known. Look, listen, to their otherwise animal: by Therese L. Broderick
Month 3:6
Still trembling in the lady spider’s web — the balled tummies of eight daddy long-legs. She danced with the stars, outstepping every one. Therese L. Broderick
Month 3:5
A shooting star falls between Merak and Phecda — a single drip from the Big Dipper into the longest Finger Lake. by Therese L. Broderick
