Poetry: We’re Marching by Lauren K. Watel
We’re marching out to sea, out to sea and sand and sky, though we don’t know where the currents will take us.
We’re marching out to sea, out to sea and sand and sky, though we don’t know where the currents will take us.
That time and one other time after that, I missed nobody and nothing.
How a text is structured has something profound to say about its author’s vision.
a torrent harbor, swimmer so caught
The southern approach to Chaco is twenty miles of fence-lined dirt road, with two sharp turns, a right then a left.
In a Minit Munch parking lot at night, you touched my face and said, “I miss you too.”
So much of this first novel felt like fighting my way through an unmapped jungle with a butter knife.
We were young & cruel
I won’t sugar-coat it; being disabled is not super fun.
It is not a route that expects newcomers.