WHISKEY ISLAND ONLINE
April 19, 2019
You're five-six-seven-eight-nine years old.
You're running with scraped knees and a stick
retrieved from a mossy bank.
Your mom worries about glass by the river;
you collect it like the near-opaque shards
are thin, curved emeralds,
like the jagged neck of the bottle the fish avoid
is some faraway queen's crown
brought there by the languid waters.
You reinvent animal husbandry—
in a stained Tupperware you gather worms,
gather pill bugs, a slug or two,
with onion grass and dirt and dandelions
arranged like tiny furniture
and, mystified, see them multiply.
You move fluidly from running wild
through scraping branches
to sitting quietly in the shade
holding that Tupperware close
and naming each bug something silly.
You're ten-eleven-twelve-nineteen years old.
Daniel Miller on "Old Wives' Tales"
January 5, 2016
Glass by the River
Contest Winners: Whiskey Island's First Annual Undergraduate Creative Writing Contest
March 29, 2019
Talking Deep Space with Gail DiMaggio
March 20, 2019
Moving Toward Creative Writing Professionally
February 14, 2019
Cleveland State Undergraduate Contest
January 29, 2019
Interview with Issue 67 Essayist, Kat Moore
August 17, 2016
Rhyming the Living with the Dead
March 3, 2016
February 3, 2016
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