Gathering Glitter
(Poetry) "It's one hundred degrees, but this is no desert."
Months after the plastic baubles hit the shelves, weeks after we laughed at how big the skeletons have gotten, how early they emerged this year the autumn leaves are falling from the liquidambar tree. It's one hundred degrees, but this is no desert. Once our rivers overflowed, before the flood of concrete cured the oak woodland of anything but us, the saturated valley floor masqueraded as a lake. The Maidu didn't spend this dry, transitional time gathering glitter for their glyphosatic lawns, but rather preparing for ascent to the foothills to get every acorn not yet hidden by the birds.
More Poetry by Annie Hendrix:
Black Window
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I move to a new town, but see the same old faces. When I look through this black window it’s as if nothing has changed.
I Walk by Candlelight
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I walk foggy down the dusty street, squinting past my sunglasses. The wind is almost strong enough to keep me from admiring the dandelions. I ask the internet for advice, and am greeted with an ocean of the world selling …
Mustard absolutely loves this!
I love your poetry, Annie!