by Sabine Wilson-Patrick | Oct 31, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Watching my grandmother view ‘The Song of the Lark’ ‘89/‘26: a Snám Suad Peach skin wrists, Watch persists Her through time Suffusing. Scythe in hand, Walk the land- Heart commands Amusing. Lark in song Sings along, Mind made of Believing....
by Sabine Wilson-Patrick | Oct 30, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
You Can Eat the Evidence The peach parts badly around the stone. You give me the larger half and lick the torn place on your thumb. I have no objection to being alive at this particular table. Before breakfast I buried the calf. The spade struck a...
by Sabine Wilson-Patrick | Oct 29, 2026 | Featured, Prose
Knife on Butter Before the butcher touched bone, tendon, cartilage, hooks, scales, steel, he sat across from his wife with a blunt knife and waited for the butter to soften. Morning occupied the dining table in pieces: bread beneath a cloth,...
by Sabine Wilson-Patrick | Oct 28, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Gathering Mushrooms in the Shadow of a Barn One had a ball of water that magnified the word shiver on its cap, and one had been torn and thrown against the wood, a soft bomb, leaving gills and skin. I knew enough to give them names and say the...
by Sabine Wilson-Patrick | Oct 27, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Dog’s Life Listening to a memoir and discovering the writer’s dog is on the same SSRI as you is an odd feeling; I don’t horn in on a dog’s life, chase balls, sniff crotches, but our brains work in similar ways it seems: carrot,...