All of it evidence. Take the worm
my daughter doubled over the hook,
deftly, as the reporter scrawled in his
book; tree that stands dead midfield
just north of the 121, its limbs and others
clichéd by increase in nitrogen; chondro
for granule, lumen for the sum of fireflies
vessel or beam. My dog won't eat now, even
prime rib. I've named the GPS Karen.
She tells me where to turn; where once
there were hedgerows, red-winged birds
balance on accidental grasses; what lives
shouts. I've already been a mother. If you want
strawberries, you'll have to join the club.
Andrea England holds a Ph.D in Creative Writing from Western Michigan University, where she teaches English and tutors athletes. Her first chapbook, INVENTORY OF A FIELD was recently published by FInishing Line Press. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Passages North
, Harpur Palate
, Zone 3
, The Atticus Review
, and others. She lives in Kalamazoo with her husband, three daughters, five hens, and a dog.
more by Andrea England:
Mary and the Hurricane
Waiting at Porter Station