A wolf. To be the sibling I never had, a rough-furred sister keening songs into my ear. A hummingbird. Because—inside a tiny cotton-lined box— I keep the still perfect yet perfectly still body of a hummer who long ago flew into...
Read MoreI‘d be descended from something once precious enough to offer a god. Turquoise, perhaps. Cowries or stone beads. Pelts of sable, ermine, marten. Saffron, cinnamon, cloves, in packets. Pekoe, oolong, or darjeeling tea. All worthy...
Read MoreA big-leaf maple imprints the pronged shape, the vein-tracery of its deciduous leaf-children into my eyes. Two barred owls call back and forth, posing a question off to my left, its answer far to my right. A sister who echos my...
Read MoreI never thought I’d become a liar. I’m not sure if I’m any good at it. I ought to be. I’ve had so much practice. At night I listen to your sleep breath. Steady. Enviable. You never seem to lose sleep over...
Read Morea bowl of fruit beside a dog. Sit-stay, I say but she escapes, tears thru the yard with an apple. Kate has published three chapbooks, June Bug (2014), Light to Light (2016) and My Wolf (2021). Journal and magazine credits...
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