December 14, 2017 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION



Sarah Bigham








they came in search of vermillion amidst the golden

end of summer while crunching through the russet

pathways on gently sloping hills like smoldering

remains of campfires just doused    thin clouds cover

evergreens and the bare branches of elms diseased

and oaks gnawed clean    she spots the crimson they

are keen to capture in small clumps instead of waves


only after in looking at the photos do they see the

red is from the leaves of a strangling vine giving

one last preening flash before killing off its host





Facing east



when yesterday was wonderful

and we were wayward yearlings

you shouted at the moon

for buttercups and cream

before the long, long arm of morning

twined its fingers through your hair

and whispered of the creek beds

your feet might one day walk






Sarah Bigham

Sarah Bigham writes in Maryland where she lives with her kind chemist wife, three independent cats, an unwieldy herb garden, and several chronic pain conditions. A Pushcart nominee, her work appears in a variety of great places for readers, writers, and listeners. Find her at www.sgbigham.com.

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