About the Feature
Then something changes. Fire licks along the interstate’s
plunging edge, Styrofoam plates of rice and sucked bones
are left out for yard dogs. Beauty is not what it once was.
On the outskirts of town, promises of asparagus
if weather holds. Head another direction. Peel past
the clinging skin of the Havana. Make the harder choice.
About the Author
Katherine Fallon holds an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. Her poems have appeared in Snake Nation Review, Cleaver, Oxidant Engine, Birds Piled Loosely, and others. Her chapbook, The Toothmakers’ Daughters, is available through Finishing Line Press. She lectures in the department of writing and linguistics at Georgia Southern University.