Amateur Poet · American Culture · Contemporary · Online Anthology · Online Magazine · Periodical · Poetry · Prose Poetry

Laura Straub

We go into the trees and find a field of wildflowers. Singing, we pick, pick apart and pull together until heaps of flowers fall out of our arms. Milkweed, queen anne’s lace, indigo, poppies, buttercups. Daisies, lavender, bulbous eyebright, until there are none left. Ants and aphids crawl down our backs like sweat. Bees and… Continue reading Laura Straub

Rate this: