/ree sherwood

Letter Home

(where, as just a tomboy, I was taught how shotguns load in the kitchen)

I am alone without your cool morning breath
drifting onto my neck in the earlyearly when the oaks

speak softly to each other over damp streets
the city air doesn’t fill me like you do

but           my           /sylvania

you have to stop calling in the middle of the night
asking how close I keep my bible&bullets

don’t you know                                          I left them
with your leaves shedding their threads

when the fall mist lays low                      shivering

Ree Sherwood holds an MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and reads for Carve magazine. Ree comes from Western Pennsylvania and wants to tell you all about it. Find more work in Painted Bride Quarterly, Lavender Review, and Rivet.