Contributions by Michelle Regalado Deatrick

Issue 17 | Summer 2015


By | Poetry

Beneath the swooping power lines only char and the smell of char abides where we burned the spiny winged leaves of Scotch thistle and the barbed white crowns of teazel— in the fen, no dusk scent of clove and of honey drifts from damask violets wilted with vinegar to pale stalks—on the east slopes at …