Written by Allison Riechman-Bennett
Art by Allison Riechman-Bennett
Grunge layered on pots I set out in August-
the cold was meant to kill anything growing.
Hot water runs through the pipes, even though the kettle sits ready on the burner.
This pasture is on a flood plain,
Not justified as a cranberry field.
Impulsive, crooked waves of amber glint in a rainbowed sun.
I would like to be backed by that sea rather than pulled.