A Belonging Field
October full of dust, floating dimly then falling, the sun burnished garish and whiskey. Its light seeped like dye into the cracked ground. Children softly erupted as their fathers sat in tractors, pulling a curtain closed. I was a child, among the rubble, silos spilling bricks from the top down, cold barns filled with mice.
What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.