I was 43 before I saw swans in flight I was born raised I loved was loved am loved I carried life in my swollen belly in my grateful arms I saw my parents face time with grace and without grace I have painted… Continue Reading “43 Years”
by Austin Davis It’s almost too much— the way she holds my hand on raw December mornings even when her nails camouflage with the frost kissed grass. The sleeves slip from the dark blue sweater she wears of mine and her hands lose their… Continue Reading “Flipper”
He parked his car in the multi-story, got out and breathed the cold air in. The rain swayed in through the upper open plan area like a slow swarm of midges. The sky was the colour of a 4B pencil.