Five Tries to Say I’m Sorry
by Joannie Stangeland

Only one year I planted pumpkins— carriage or shell for keeping very well— dragged them to the front yard, left them to grow old and soften while I wanted happily ever in the country called leisure, and I don’t like to travel—but remember those days after the dash for the airport, dragging our baggage to … Continue reading Five Tries to Say I’m Sorry
by Joannie Stangeland

Having Made My Beds
by Joannie Stangeland

Under March skies, palette shifting white to blue, I arm with steel, rusty teeth, hack, attack the thickets— no prince in search of kisses. From one stick—sucker— grows a rose, cane and thorn a bitter plenty, brief bud. Oh, cloud of my neglect—fierce bluster surges to there and here, battle for light, a tangle. More … Continue reading Having Made My Beds
by Joannie Stangeland