The Ways of Water

by Laura Parker Roerden As a child, we had a hand pump over an artesian well by a white, double-decker chicken barn. It was the only water for hundreds of birds growing on that land. The pump required several hard thrusts of the handle to raise the water like spirit, to the surface. Then each […]

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Cold Poem

by Laura Parker Roerden When life crowds you with the call of too many mean words, words that line the very highway you are walking, words that tumble along ghost town prairies like dangerous tumbleweeds gathering seeds, spreading like wildfire and threatening to crowd out truth, try to find the center of the pendulum, though […]

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A Small Poem

by Laura Parker Roerden Small things sometimes call us home, like the two birds I saw circling the hay field this morning on my way back from farm chores. Their shrill vibrating whistle, a half warning, half invitation stunned me awake from a deep dream—even though I should have been sufficiently awake from an hour […]

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The Garden Spider

by Laura Parker Roerden Every single evening in her short life the garden spider spins a web of concentric circles. Each anchored to five or so holdfasts, simple spokes on a wheel, against which everything hinges. Around and around she goes, adding to her work, bridging the distance from one holdfast to another, length by […]

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Stitch by Loving Stitch

by Laura Parker Roerden My grandmother darned socks. A good farm wife, she knew any tear could be mended, the original wound transformed into a caesura, a brief pause held by the conductor to grab our attention, to show us meaning that hovers uncomfortably in a void. Or into a sharp, an intentional accident in […]

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