by Nancy Dickeman
There is an atomic land along the crook in the river
where reactors’ shadows
once traced the Columbia’s currents. Continue reading
Tag Archives: Nancy Dickeman
Atoms and Stones
The Fall of 2016
by Nancy Dickeman
We push the baby through the crush of waterlogged leaves, past
a slumped brick wall
seared by a swastika’s fresh paint.
The jagged white arms loom,
stark as hooded figures igniting
a tide of embers.
Filed under Poetry
Alton By the Ocean
by Nancy Dickeman
Alton Grear stood at the ocean’s edge, fluttering like a sail in the wind. At eighty-three, his long body, lean and brittle, was still strong. Even though the waves made him wobble and knocked his faded orange swim trunks below his buttocks, he regained his balance, pulled up his shorts and tightened the white drawstring, all while the ocean swirled at his ankles, teasing him further out. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 