I’m in the chain bookstore, trying not to spend money on a thick Mary McCartney cookbook or a flowered pencil case in anticipation of an upcoming week in New York. 250 more words
Tags » Poetry Journals
I wouldn’t call it a honeymoon,
those muffled nights in mothballed rooms.
With cake in the boot we pilgrimmed north,
taking a young marriage to old widows, 988 more words