Summer time: time enough to fold cup after cup of blackberries into muffin dough, pancake batter, home made pie shells. Time enough, once the rest of the household snores, for a mother with insomnia to grab and eat raw by the chilled handful the remainder of the crop…
And time enough, mercifully, to slip into Perhaps, Maybe, play with Liz Brennan.
Three stars (on longing and flowering plums):
Micro Reading and Text of Poem: Maybe, when peering into the depths of my own shadow, every beginning...
Atlantis (on fathers and daughters):
Micro-reading
Text of Poem: Perhaps the female body, at point of conception...
Liz is currently looking for others to collaborate with her... Perhaps once you start, maybe you'll find it hard to stop...
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