May 16, 2021

The caves of Gower, secrets, the wind.


My ancestors lived in the caves of Gower and made tools from bone and stone. More recently, my people grew cotton in the United States and married their second cousins. Over it all, the same moon and stars, the same sun. Wind whispering through the trees. 

-jobe


The wind has no need for secrets, neither does the current sliding down the creek. I don’t keep secrets anymore. Life is what it is. And now? A morning halfway between the sun and the rain. Somewhere a new child is born, even as I write these words. And again, as you read. And again.

-jobe


LINKS -

Ren Powell

Bait the Lines

Hardcore Zen

haiku eye

The Urban Mermaid

HOOT, a monthly literary magazine on a postcard

The Slowdown

clay and branches

THOTPURGE

Summer's End

Medusa's Kitchen

The Middlewesterner

The Morning Porch/Patio

VIA NEGATIVA, purveyors of fine poetry since 2003

thanks/jobe

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