July 2024

Without Words

July 29, 2024by DyAnne Korda

Preview Image:

My eyes adjust to root cellar darkness—

dank walls lined with planks of abandoned jars.

Webs stretch over windowsills where geraniums

pressed pale leaves against minimal light all winter long.

I shake dust from a tattered bag filled with clothespins

and carry it up the sweating stairs to daylight;

My beloved pup, Mustang Sally, waits.

Between clothesline poles tangled in vines,

more wooden pins float in rows, suspended in air.

I hang pillowcases and sheets, forget-me-not-blue;

they melt in cloudless skies.

After Sally scrambl