I ache for rain water; the corn is dried
up. Zucchini blossoms gone. Summer
squash carried away by deer. We eat
none this season. Did we can any
tomatoes last July? Heirlooms didn’t
make it—not enough water to share
between our mouths and theirs. We use
the last bits to wash ourselves of this
place; we go elsewhere to plant our rows.
Heather Loudermilk is a poet navigating a day job. She is a recent graduate of Hollins University, and currently moved from Bassett, Virginia to Cleveland, Ohio. Her work is forthcoming in Artemis Journal.
Burnt Pine 