Again I have need to haunt this pen for again you have forgotten my words and have ceded your power to another I see this hold she still has over you but I do not know how to rationalize it You have retuned to following…

“Between the woods and frozen lake…” Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, line 7.   Between the woods and frozen lake A figment in the snow A foreign sign found at daybreak What is it? I don’t know I ponder should I take…

Very loosely based on the photo prompt:

Water luscious commodity of life washing our feet clean wildflowers grow bringing hope as deer play with water we exist yet storms run wild rains fall and fall streets become rivers waves beat upon the house islands were not there before refrigerators float along the…

There is a loneliness to the mound when you start to loose your control Your breaking ball that refused to break now sits five rows up in the stands Now, all of a sudden you cannot throw a strike having walked the next two batters…

I took my baby to the beach I walked her to the water A million seashells in our reach A day for Mom and daughter A moment that had harkened back To days spent in my youth My Dad and I had quite the knack…

Hello everyone! I’m River (they/it) and I’m from the rural reaches of Maine. I’m a queer, cripple, mad, anarchist writer whose work is heavily influenced by those identities. Namely, I write poetry but flash and short stories also happen from time to time. I spent…