Summerland
Poetry by Megan Gartrell published in Vol 1 Issue 2
Paper boats sail between marijuana flavoured apple trees
faceless boy paper routes
ride past GRAD ‘97 etched in beer filled mountains
Paper boats sail between marijuana flavoured apple trees
faceless boy paper routes
ride past GRAD ‘97 etched in beer filled mountains
Atop the driver’s seat I perch,
sun burnt legs dangling.
Skin clings to sticky worn leather,
smells like gas and grease.
All elbows and ears
I run my hand along the tires.
Rotten apples squeeze
sweet juice between the rubber grooves. (more…)
My brother
Sleeps on couches all over town
Steals my clothes and
Only comes home to shave
And eat everything in the fridge.
My brother
Is friends with his ex-girlfriends
Dating my friends
And nobody hates him. (more…)
The old place was an acre or two of wooded land with a few small clapboard buildings set back from the road and shaded by a broad and high canopy of pale green maple leaves. We called it the old place because it was the first place, where our parents were born and learned to walk without shoes. (more…)