Goldilocks’s Mother
Hickories spin in jaunty nuisance, flipping their wet, golden strands into the mud. They stick to her shoes. My daughter, climbing fences. Little cockleburs. The bears were curious, out walking through the misty morning while porridge cools on their spoons. No one fastens the doors. At home, our fire burns low. The ashes hold out… Read more Goldilocks’s Mother