Jenn Blair

Editor back-issues, poetry

Sulk Clouds hang low in the heat, heavy bellied animals. Perspiring Boy Scouts plant small crisp flags squarely beside every mailbox in Cedar Creek, vans slowly trailing with fresh reserves. When they are done, they shed their clothes—piles of khaki snake skins, then jump into to the pool to splash and bob, screaming Marco and Polo at their lung-tops. I…

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register