From Issue 13: Dusk

Vicky Harris 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…

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