Stepping stones skip silently
Across acrid acres of afflicted land.
Winter’s Wednesday wakened with worry.
Drought’s sorrow weakened in our house &
Humdrum hoovers harmonically hum along crunchy floors.
Flowers, fragrant, fill our kitchen air.
Baby boys bellow beyond their lungs
Blowing forward bayonets of sound.
Silently, around the hearth of windless hovels, fire burns,
And we are one, at last, captured among the sweet strong smells
Of its warm and weary soul.
Laura is a freelance writer hailing from Buffalo, NY. Having lived in places such as Russia, Africa, and Alaska, she loves truly original short fiction, poetry, and pretty much anything to do with fantasy and adventure in foreign lands. Hoping to one day soon publish her first novel, Laura spends her time not writing making independent films, acting & singing in theater, and enjoying all the delicious restaurants NYC has to offer. You can contact her for any and all of your writing needs at email@example.com and on Instagram