Monday, July 6, 2020

Dusk by Lauren Scharhag

When the lilacs end,
fireflies constellate
in the dying fragrance,
lighting the white viburnum.
On the patio,
my mother drinks
sticky-sweet wine.
Black gnats, undaunted
by cigarette smoke,
circle the rim.







Lauren Scharhag is the author of fourteen books, including Requiem for a Robot Dog (Cajun Mutt Press) and Languages, First and Last (Cyberwit Press). Her work has appeared in over 100 literary venues around the world. Recent honors include the Seamus Burns Creative Writing Prize, two Best of the Net nominations, and acceptance into the 2021 Antarctic Poetry Exhibition. She lives in Kansas City, MO. To learn more about her work, visit: www.laurenscharhag.blogspot.com




No comments:

Post a Comment

Jesus Takes Driving Lessons By April Ridge

I'm driving south on the state highway  when I see a sign,  handmade and tacked to a tree  by the side of the road  that says 'Jesus...