Fades and flops
like a towel thrown over a rack.
A face someone wore
washed ashore, surreal lashes
closed prettily in sleep.
Heebie jeebie ants
gather like onlookers
slowing for an accident.
A cold, metallic platform stands
in the dark, barren sand
as though awaiting an autopsy.
Empty husks mask
the tree-snagged landscape;
the still-bright sea out of reach.
Laura Engle: "I am usually occupied in the field of healthcare administration and have been for more than thirty years. My husband Todd and I live in the pioneer town of Aurora, Oregon which was a communal experiment in frontier idealism. The original townsfolk shared their wealth and produce, put everyone’s kids through school and college, and were expected to play an instrument. It didn’t last, but we like to think we would have made the cut. We have thirty fruit trees growing on a fertile half acre behind our house where we also keep bees, goats, and chickens who are named after television sitcom characters from the seventies. Our daughter Emily and her husband Oz own and operate the local bakery, The White Rabbit. Todd and I work at a nearby retirement community. Todd plays classical guitar. I am still in Book Two for piano, but I persist."
The Ekphrastic Review
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