In the wandering ways, the lightening
flashes grey and the farmhouses are hollowed
empty like a spent bullet. The corn stubble is
sharp for the deer, who step judiciously between
the broken stalks. Then the wind presses against
the grass, and the trees bend low, in prayer to a whisper,
their branches stroke the clay dirt. The frayed
hammock swings empty.
Vicky MacDonald Harris was born in Windsor, Ontario, where she received her BA in English Literature, but now calls Lincoln, Nebraska home. In print, her poems have been published in the NaPoChapBook collection published by Big Game Books, The Lincoln Underground. Online she has poems at Poets and Artists, Hobble Creek Review and others. She’s had one short story published in Return to Deathlehem: An Anthology of Holiday Horrors. She blogs at https://vickyharris.wordpress.com when she isn’t finding time to work on revisions on her first novel.