SmokeLong Quarterly

Palmetto

The train waited like a tiger, breath in the grass. She climbed the deep embankment. Water? she said, to the child, a tar-stained cat.

Thresh

He handed her over the pile of crabs, waving white in the hull. Thanks, she said, to her receiver. The man put her down, pointed toward him, his particular crossing.

Rest

The lamb had weathered to a set of knobs. Meanwhile, next to it, the stone kept accountable the sky. Jesus, he said, in wont of water.

Saved

The waves were dark though adorned in the domes of jellyfish. Toward one she threw a stone. Theyre my grandfather drowning, she said. Sand had caught in her ears, the tender band of her suit.

Wet

Each day, the sky was ruined, black and greened. Newspapers carried ink to the streets.