What Will Come to Pass, the Selchie-Wife, Stone Music
Waves sucked back, pebbles racketed—feast of reprise— my breath a cliff-edge. The children, mine, wanted their feet splashing among waves. The man, mine, wanted to be succor, balm, father, though he’d come to retrieve his true-skin, to farewell-speak until he called them for waves. Then, then, he lifted them from the surf.
Too Many Hurricanes for this Early in the Year, and I Resolve Once Again Never to Visit Florida
Pygmy rattlesnakes spinning from your ceiling fan: stop thinking
about Hemingway, six-toed cats, feral chickens, naked guys
writing squeezed-fruit sentences, drunk in Florida— penances.
Devon Miller-Duggan has published poems in Margie, The Antioch Review, Massachusetts Review, and Spillway. She teaches at the University of Delaware. Her books include Pinning the Bird to the Wall (Tres Chicas Books, 2008), Alphabet Year (Wipf & Stock, 2017), The Slow Salute Lithic Press Chapbook Competition Winner, 2018).