The Welsh Dragon
the winter sun blasts through tinted Welsh windows, and my skin feels it all at once, sudden and warm after the cold grey miles. through the glass, the valleys roll on soft and endless, the long grass bending and lifting in the winter wind like it’s breathing slow and easy with the land. I drift
Photo Albums
the pictures went in like a splinter you can’t dig out. one showed a Jewish boy, maybe ten, lost inside those striped rags, the yellow star sewn on like a tag on something being shipped. another was nothing but bones twisted wrong and black smoke crawling out of chimneys into a sky that didn’t give