The Swallows in Flight

by Laura Parker Roerden Every night now the swallows fall and rise over the hayfield, slicing the sky as if skinning it open to feed on insects. I can imagine DaVinci must have seen them. His drawings of flying machines spoke of curved elegance; of momentum that turns planes of existence upside, down. of alacrity, […]

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Morning Poem

Reflections on Spring’s Shoulder by Laura Parker Roerden Winter’s frozen fingers still clutch the ground, unwilling to yield to a muddy grave. Some years are like that: everything worn to the bone, promise blunt and fragmented. This morning has no choice but to rise clumsily against a thick attempt at erasure. At best, a hole had been rubbed […]

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