Say it began with —
trucks and truck stops,
a gap in a fence hedge
where someone slipped through.
Vans. Garages.
My spirit raised
in a hilltop haze
to ease — oh, not then.
And then,
a lovely fluid hand.
Related
Author: Renee Newlon
I am a Turkish American writer and photographer. I work in short-form prose, poetic fragments, and photography. I don’t photograph the event; I photograph the moment after the event. A few things that stay with me: Plato’s Cave, Oberg’s Culture Shock, and Beethoven’s Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours. My greatest teacher was my college philosophy professor, Sister Jane Sullivan, who taught me how to think and how to see.
View all posts by Renee Newlon
