Ekphrastic Response to “Southeastern Louisiana” by Beth Aala The space where something is: her mother, watching the kids play or making Thanksgiving dinner just
Where shall I hide my things? —Emily Dickinson The attic: separated for eternity from its twin, the basement, by architects and their congregation, who
Crook-armed acacia bark all split and sedimentary, branches dissolving into green feathers without control of air. Shadow like a snake’s back—all mottle and shift.