Jade Crystal Harmon

at the little creek that only flows in spring [with a child]

March snow lay thick in the pine woods.

We pushed our way through the drifts to the camping spot

next to the big rock where the cats perch and become lions.

* * *...

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How to get there from here

‘He lands on the black stone — my son, my baby — separated from me by a river of liquid fire.’

Smoke stings my eyes. A grinding roar fills my ears. The tunnel is narrow, glowing dull orange, getting hotter. I shuffle through the dimness, feet crunching over hot, brittle stones. My companion pulls me forward, down into the darkness and the heat. I can see the rough outline of...

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