Reviewed by Dave Seter Childhood can be a time of intense joy and disappointment. An old idiom counsels: children should be seen and not
Slugs slick with rainwater cling to my dog’s hair, black lumps of tiny matter, baby slugs like snot, like something freaky you’d shake
The plane trees quiet as a funeral; your lifeless body posed like a Pompeii corpse waiting for the ash-coffin. The rain clouds wore the
A group of boys with bats beat a porcupine to death one twilight at the campground out West while I huddled in my tent