Stuff happens that makes us feel like we got the salt kicked out of us.
What helps you play with language?
“I don’t know what others will think who read this…”
The assignment for the writer is to write whatever words arise from that lead-in, and I’m always amazed at what “unrolls” as a result.
So strange to be so close, this close, this wild.
“What did I love about killing the chickens? Let me start…” ~ Ellen Bass
Autumn poem by Barbara Crooker: “Summer’s fruits are preserved in syrup, but nothing can stopper time.”