Before We Reached The Sea

An undershirt on a reaped corn stalk;
a wet tie stained with smoke;
water puddling in road scars;
the field, a former homestead;
the smell of burnt oil and skin fuse in the air
and soil, rising even after the lavender blooms.

First published in Right Hand Pointing.

Published by Brendan McEntee

Poet and critic living in New York near Long Island Sound.

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