OUR CATEGORY : Cheryl King

My Mother’s Hands

lift the big enamel kettle from the coolness of the fridge and lay aside the blue plate to skim ivory cream from pale milk flip a circle of pastry over the Saskatoon pie her fingers, held just so deftly shape a pretty edge stitch white fur on red velvet a luxurious coat for the fancy […]

it ain’t pretty

I’ve been hanging out with poetryfresh, rosy-cheeked imagestrim, lilting phraseshigh-stepping across the page fuck the pretty words I want a poet with the gutsto visit the industrial part of townlate winter views that will make no tourist brochuregrimy snow banksrotting, leaking thin mudchip bags snagged against chain linkleaden skies, pothole roads a poet pulling to […]

Grandpa Moves the Hay

‘hey, bud! got the tractor running let’s put a bale in the feeder for Cres & the Bob!’ lightly and lovingly she invites him out of the recliner into coveralls & a mild January morning tugging a cap low over his ears he grips the handrail descends the porch carefully one step at a time […]