Kara Krewer Away from Wind Street Something gives you away, your ragged nails or undressed face, that edge of masculinity in your voice, and the man you’re dancing with in Swansea feels it on you, steps lightly back: You’re a dabbler, aren’t you? What you’ll think to say much later is: Aren’t we all though, in some way, just splashing our feet through the stones and silt? So you walk away from the club where pink lights skitter across damp bricks, to the beach where you alone wet your ankles in the bay. The air smells green tonight, and the full moon turns the water to tin. Mumbles Lighthouse shines atop its rocky islands,
Crab Orchard Review
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