Summer With Father In A Small Town
My sister and I always choose to sit
who bounds from side to side growling.
and we can tell that King loves us.
A wire hanger jabbed through his ear,
history of rescuing animals, his ability
with a pen, does thousand-piece puzzles
stripping my hair from my face, the truck’s
to see everything from—my sister smiling,
what a beautiful dog, what happy children.
West Texas, 3 PM
The blind caves on Reed’s Plateau
everything talking to itself about
the finches, busy in the present tense,
It’s all enough to make one miss Alabama,
Kimberly Horne lives and teaches in Austin, Texas. Her writing has appeared in Crab Creek Review, Puerto del Sol, The Spoon River Poetry Review, and Southern Poetry Review, among others. Her MFA in poetry is from the University of Virginia. contact
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