Eggs. Egg. Anything white. Anything oval. Come to think of it, anything yellow or white and oval. Or scrambled all over, you know, sort of thrown around and fluffy? And yellow and white, the two of them together. With white specks all through the yellow, smelling of butter. In fact, butter itself. Because butter can […]
Tag Archives: Sheldon Lee Compton
Cloud to Ground by Sheldon Lee Compton
Sheets of rain toss the husband’s vehicle. It’s a hard surprise rain trying to beat dents into the earth. Every second that passes, the upper mantle could reverse bloom and open wide to take in the husband and everything else. She gathers hope like wildberries. She gathers hope like fistfuls of gorgeous chicory. She hides […]