She navigates stairs like shoaled water,

punches down rising bread,

pumps water into blue-speckled percolator.


Cows milked, he pushes through snow,

stamps feet, unwinds wrappings,

settles at burnished table.


She benches shoulder to shoulder.

They sup coffee with swirls of cream,

feast upon warm bread dressed golden in butter.


He says chickens, pigs can wait.

She clasps his coarsely textured hand,

draws him to feather bed.




Fay L. Loomis, a nemophilist (haunter of the woods, one who loves the forest, its beauty, and its solitude), lives in upstate New York. An active member of the Stone Ridge Library Writers, her poems, flash fiction, and articles have appeared in print and online publications, including The Beacon, Soul-Lit, Pan’s Shadow, Twisted Endings, and Healing Power of the Imagination Journal.

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