It pours out of my hands, it seeps into the grass
The mail just brought my contributor's copy of Not One of Us #74, containing my poem "Drained." It's the one I wrote last summer thinking about peat bogs and global warming, dedicated to the memory of Seamus Heaney and incorporating a prompt from Corvyn Appleby by way of ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
radiantfracture. The rest of the slim, appropriately imagistic issue shades its palette around stories and poems by Marissa Lingen, Sarah McCall, Jennifer Crow, Alexandra Seidel, and more. In the bookending photography of John Stanton, a wasp leads, a crow follows. Check it out! It arrives with ironic timeliness for my feelings about breathable atmospheres, having woken this morning to chemical smoke roiling through our apartment from whatever the contractor in the basement was doing to our heating system. He apologized, which we appreciated. I coughed for hours.
radiantfracture. The rest of the slim, appropriately imagistic issue shades its palette around stories and poems by Marissa Lingen, Sarah McCall, Jennifer Crow, Alexandra Seidel, and more. In the bookending photography of John Stanton, a wasp leads, a crow follows. Check it out! It arrives with ironic timeliness for my feelings about breathable atmospheres, having woken this morning to chemical smoke roiling through our apartment from whatever the contractor in the basement was doing to our heating system. He apologized, which we appreciated. I coughed for hours.
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Come on, USPS!
This morning I was irked to be woken by the sound a leaf blower at 8:30 a.m., but now I see it could have been so much worse. Yeesh.
Thank you, although I have to say that leaf blowers are still pretty awful, especially at eight-thirty a.m!