The cornfield filled with whispering follows us
as we skirt it, our voices husky and the sharp stalk leaves keeping us from cutting through. In there lives the girl put down to nap without a fan, the scratches on her arms a stranger’s
entry through her open window.
as we skirt it, our voices husky and the sharp stalk leaves keeping us from cutting through. In there lives the girl put down to nap without a fan, the scratches on her arms a stranger’s
entry through her open window.
by Charles Hansmann
Sea Cliff, New York
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