Author: Julie Hill alger

In the red-roofed stucco house Of my childhood, the dining room Was screened off by folding doors With small glass […]

When the molten earth seethed In its whirling cauldron Nobody watched the pot From a tall wooden stool Set out […]

At least I’ve learned this much: Life doesn’t have to be All poetry and roses. Life Can be bus rides, […]

They call it stroke. Two we loved were stunned By that same blow of cudgel Or axe to the brow. […]