monochrome

Around here they call the ocean a meat-grinder. Chews up, spits out. Nor'easter storms hit my parents' house head-on and rip off shingles, drench the house in angry spray. In a spitting rain I wander through a bramble, blackberry thorns tugging at my pants, and the whole of everything I see feels tired and cranky. I capture drips on the old apple tree, the twist of disintegrating rope that holds... ... read more