The Country House, Nicole Callihan

It’s too cold to open the windows for air,so I pick through the things I leftmore than a month ago, in the last decade.I put away the knives and spoons, the bowls.And sweeping dead flies into the old blue pail,I count twenty-two, their black bodies, their wings.How much can we count over the years?These accumulatedContinue reading “The Country House, Nicole Callihan”