A bucket
Two feet past the busy woodpile, Igor’s fury and the stillness that reigned after the trees cracked. The baby restless. The rampage. A bucket and all it could hold. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Fire
This time and these stars and this smoke rising. Your hands on the girl and her hands on stone, the night so black the sound travels years to meet itself at the start. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Atlas goes paddling
Plunge and pull, your paddle the best of you, your arms reaching — elbow, wrist, fist — into the black. And the boat cuts on. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Quiet Morning at Ocean Pond
Morning: the rise and fall of tiny chests, the tide in them. The old sun going on and on. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Ready?
Small girl in a clutch of trees scraped knees peeking from a gallumph of rubbers. Her yellow boots big as the world CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Trade route
You are knees and curls, a palette of surprise. Rehearsing a way home, your feet too small to carry you. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN