Before the pharmacy, above the apothecary, I lived for a spell. With broomsticks in a closet with no name. Along the spine of the hill, below the ashen face of heaven, I waited for his ovine spirit to graze my face. She held her breath so tightly it escaped her, she lied in the desert, […]
Poetry 98
Stephanie Berger: “It Doesn’t Hurt That She Is Beautiful”
As she descends into the canyon, she becomes the descent, the way an action can become solid as a steeple. I can be the downfall of man! That sunburst of flesh! For I am the moment the desert meets water from the mountains, an instant connection, a language that can travel into your memories like […]