Karen Jobst

Just off-center of her crown was a wound, a ration of scar tissue we’d run our fingers over whenever we called her to sit, or to go fetch a chew from across the floor. She’d been found down by the creek. Her oversize paws immersed in its bed, her snout ribboned with mud. She wormed […]

Longer than we could safely stand at the window, rain and hail razed our lot and midway through– the willow’s limbs, some the circumference of telephone poles, had jackknifed over the fence. Half a tree– one side wistful, the other serrated stumps, still had presence. The side near the gate, a resurgence of sinewy vines,