Tag Archives: Fern G. Z. Carr

Empty Nest

No wet towels on the bathroom floor, bed still made – unrumpled, a few stray clothes left hanging in the closet not tossed onto the carpet, no dirty dishes on the kitchen counter or in the sink, none of his … Continue reading

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Shoebox Coffin

outstretched wings,       limp eyeless body ravaged by       tenacious wasps and buzzing flies;       a race to the shed for pitchfork, shears,       gardening gloves – undertaker’s tools       in a hidden corner of the yard where       a globe cedar’s stubborn roots       tangle in … Continue reading

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