by Kim Chinquee
It was past her enlistment. Polar, snow humps rising, she couldn’t get on the highway. People got rashes from their heaters, their skin ripe. She put on her parka and the wind blew, and she had to plug her car in. Her boy went screaming for his father, though that was months ago. Boy, she said, there was a place for something. She went out and everything frozen. She watched the channels, the weatherlady smiling with promises. Hey, she told her boy. Her ID card was expired and going South was an option. There had to be plows. She thought about Rosemary. That woman. Her husband and spices. Olive oil and bread and this room had nothing but pizza. The wind howled. She held her boy, uniform. This was a country.
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 