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,...
by Sabine Wilson-Patrick | Oct 26, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Here is a cross You said you’d never die here. Here are your Sundays watching your children’s birthdays on your screen. Here are your winters crating up grocery trucks, pineapples scratching rough skin. Here are your summers slating the roofs...
by Sabine Wilson-Patrick | Oct 25, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
The Bee and the Lemon Tree like a lover the bee visits the tree every day on the window ledge the little tree is sky goddess the breeze speaks to the bee-wasp love circles in the air the hider in the lemon leaves a thought hums a tune scent dances...
