by Deborah H. Doolittle
I am reading my roots
like grandma’s tea leaves,
having sipped that bitter
brew, having tipped the cup
for likenesses to ogham
or runes or any glyphs Continue reading
by Deborah H. Doolittle
I am reading my roots
like grandma’s tea leaves,
having sipped that bitter
brew, having tipped the cup
for likenesses to ogham
or runes or any glyphs Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Deborah H. Doolittle
We praise the dog when it raises
its paw. Laugh out loud when its
lolling tongue belies the earnest
effort of his concentration. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry