Lemon Grass: Race | TheUnion.com
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Lemon Grass: Race

ash in the air, maybe fairy flair

thickity kindling cloying my hair

slow burn blazing a short stream away



its shadow filters daylight dying today

smoke underfoot dances for rain



is Mother purging her skin for our shame?

rolling hills won’t pause for the wolfwoman’s claws

while the river runs red from its moon-soaked bed

it’s quick when it comes, encroaches on one

revenge around, the sound of scorched tongue

Lemon Grass

North San Juan


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