Atlas & Alice | Issue 7, Summer/Fall 2016
A Woman Driver, the Driver Says Into His Phone Burnt summer in full swing with its scorched weeds that crack the concrete. Show me the Queen Anne’s Lace, clover, and chicory. Gather them in a bouquet, nail them by their stems .to the pantry wall in the basement to dry through the ashen winter. The petals wane into dusty pastels, dry, ……….yes brittle, ……….yes but still beautiful in their way. What have you got to prove? They said. I said whiskey, watered down. I said red and blue, my own independence day parade with its metallic flashes and powdery cracks of flame.