The action moves outward from the drawing room to the street, the carriage to the theatre and back home again.
He asked for a kiss, pointing to his cheek and moving closer, his wife looking on disapprovingly from the hall as she bid adieu.
A perfectly green leaf falling.
The foundation of that “city upon the hill” foretold in sermon (1630, John Winthrop) for the Massachusetts Bay Colony was Roxbury puddingstone, not granite; conglomerate, not igneous; porous, not crystalline.
The slap on the hand that feeds us, and the hand itself, become as one.
– Morgan Harlow
Morgan Harlow is a poet, fiction writer, and photographer with poems and stories published or forthcoming in Burnside Review, Blackbox Manifold, Washington Square, Descant, Seneca Review, West Wind Review, The Moth, E·ratio, and elsewhere, and book reviews at Eyewear: a blogzine of poetry, politics and pop culture.
