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