by Carol V. Davis
After a week in Siberia
my world is shrinking.
I gaze out the window
weighing choices: Continue reading →
Filed under Poetry
Tagged as Carol V. Davis, Death, Politics, Russia, Siberia, Winter
What is the dream life of a cicada?
Imagine burrowing underground for 17 years,
such sulky juveniles, then within hours
merging with millions, the males boisterous,
females silent, clumsy fliers, colliding mid-air. Continue reading →
Tagged as Carol V. Davis