Rolls of hay lean into the hillside, peppery-sweet, thick wheels, spiraling to rest in slumped shoulders of land; bonfire weather...
Child of the Large-Beaked Bird The crows are up to no good, tapping the tin roof like it’s Miss Glover’s...
Cowhouse In the beginning they had one cow – a tough little heifer that could kick like a mule. She...
Alabama April If you reenact the last painful moment I’ll love you harder than a civil war drama on a...
what will be November has already made husks of what once was aaaaI work fast against nearing dusk the sky...
Dead Farms in Northern New England Veinous snapshots of Dad Before He Went Over. All black and whites, they’ve sat...
Autumn Caledonia County, Vermont Why not write something for those who scratched out improbable livings here? Somebody has...
My Mother Hoped for the Best My mother would pause in her sweeping and lean on the brush to listen...
Diviners A child, I followed him around the field, held a wish-bone between my fingers. And when he paused and...
The Light Dancing When I close the door my father’s coat slow dances against the dark wood. It is old,...
The Truth about Cows I’ve heard a lot of bad stuff about cows; about how these murderous brutes are hell...
Irish poet, academic, and journalist, Oisín Breen is the author of two collections of poetry. His latest collection, Lilies on...