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Tag Archives: Shawn Nacona Stroud
—How terrible it is to love something Death can touch. I remember how father hunched over our kitchen counter, the day grandfather died, how bravely he awakened to death, and the rooster’s cries as this new dawn arose seemed a … Continue reading
For Jennifer Stroud Wirth My sister became our mother at twelve, screeching lessons onto the blackboard, lecturing letters and numbers, and prodding her fraying pull down map with a stick. She taught of better places than this must-filled basement classroom … Continue reading
I used to crunch into them, teeth ripping their waxed flesh— back then I was all vampire for their blood. Now I just pluck them half- ripened, green and red and bitter as Christmastime. I’ll watch them brown within their … Continue reading
Huddled amid December snowflakes, breathe—wisps of steam shorn from our lips. We stand like two life-fused snowmen barred from the warmed rooms of a sanctuary that would certainly thaw us entirely. Mother looks on through our window squares the way … Continue reading