Yvonne Morris
“Spring Leaning,” “Potato Soup,” “Any Old Two-Lane Won’t Do”
Thick ice in the driveway’s pothole thaws.
Three birds discover the puddle. I watch
from my warm, mouse-colored sofa as
they flop and shriek, bouncy in the frigid…
Three birds discover the puddle. I watch
from my warm, mouse-colored sofa as
they flop and shriek, bouncy in the frigid…
“Busy Being Eve,” “Bright Highway” and “A Sort-of Sonnet for the Night In”
She drowns on the sofa for two weeks. But each day she makes herself rise and wobble to the kitchen for water, a bite of toast. The blistering pain in her pneumonia-filled lungs causes her to grab the counter as if it’s an overturned boat, yet she hangs on, gasping for dear life.