Circa 1900 Waldo sharpened the blades of his turn-of-the-last-century sled and slid Downhill at age eighty-four. His wife chided him, “Old fool!” It jades, The spirit, with the practicality survival crams into an aging head. What more Can it do to the slat-and-metal tool discovered in inanity hid? Pity So many slide into dead in hours made days; days, decades— done did.   December Branches Time must loathe green eyes ————————-that look at the earth and see through its lies the verdant reflected ——-where there is none. And Time must wear white hair ————————-it shakes out when the green tha ..read more

The post On My Love of the Country Life by Sydney Lea appeared first on The Milk House ..read more

The post This Work is Done by Jonathan Humble appeared first on The Milk House ..read more

My Uncle’s Farm I recollect particulars by the dozen, But late in life I yearn to shift the sensory into some higher realm. I dream this would make the life whole. Everything, however, resists translation from quiddity: whiff of the barn all year; long shadows of cornstalks, summer receding; spring pastures pocked by woodchucks; airborne crystals of frost at dawn; in autumn, an owl high up in the loft; the landscape’s dells and hollows, each familiar to me as any playmate. All these, all right, but what do they validate? I could point out even today which pine in winter refracts the looming mo ..read more

Paul: Looks like some kids have messed up the book box again. Any ideas who?  Michelle: @Trish Jones – your boys?  Trish: dnt look at me michelle, theyve been at home all day Jan has sent an image Jan: 45 clean jam jars free to a good home  *** When I moved in with John, my father gave me a bird feeder. “Because you have a garden now,” he explained proudly. I remember this when I find the feeder wrapped up in a bag-for-life. We live in a small terrace cottage within a hamlet that really has no business even existing. The week before I moved, my friend Carol showed me a regional ..read more

Neil knew he should be the one to start the neighbour’s combining this year. At seventy-nine, his father’s neck is too arthritic, his reflexes too slow to handle big equipment safely. Especially on the road where newcomers race from their new houses in small towns, back to the city from which they escaped. When he told him, Neil’s dad had looked past him and said nothing. But he nodded. Neil is sure of that. Still, when he walks behind the equipment shed this morning, Neil is not surprised at what he finds. The combine is gone. So is his dad. Damn. Neil shakes his head, feeling a twinge in his ..read more

Him and the Dog She stands birching Towards river Black metal liquid Sweating paper Southeast Her pepper white skin flapping Cinnamon into the wind The insects detour the trail of deterrent Caught on a different path Antennae tangle with confusion Their multiple facet eyes Cast diamond suns, garnet imaginings To the dog panting on the porch Its lapping lazy tongue sinks cool Into slobber water Splashes the bare soles of the gray beard Rusted owner Tin stone he sits heavy A monument, a broomstick used well He is dreaming of the river The current of summer sound Rising like a swelling orchestra ..read more

As the sun began to top the trees, you could tell today would be another scorcher. One of the hottest days of the summer so far from the feel of it. Even back in the woods, shaded where we were, I had already started sweating like hell through my shirt. Travis and I walked with our fishing rods out in front of us to knock down any spider webs we might come across. The brush was thick, fallen trees everywhere, a half-ass path worn through it all on account of us having walked to the pond just about every day since the start of summer. The pond was only about a half-mile through the woods from w ..read more

Daughter of the Deep Places A hardwood doesn’t settle in its spot Out of any preference for that spot. She grew where she fell. She never left the deep places That prefer their own company. Never left the coal-train diesel lullabies Or evening songs of the owl and fox. Never left the cool, clear branch That wore its way through naked stone To where it met its daughters and the sea. Dressed in gingham there And wore her hair in reverence For what was due the reverence. Never let her hands release The rough embrace Of what’s required For salvation or honest work. Never thought she wouldn’t hear ..read more

The offerings were ready, and I thought that my lion cat must be hungry.  It was a blistering summer day. Inside our family home, everyone was bustling around the stuffy parlor, which was filled with the fragrance of cooked meat and fried garlic. In front of the mahogany shrine box, tangerines were piled up on a small plate. A red grouper had been placed on a larger plate, its head scarlet and tail crooked. Following Grandma’s direction, Cousin Mei placed the censer in the middle of the table, and lit the two red candles on either side of it.  When nobody was looking in my direction ..read more