Thursday, February 18, 2016

Haiku by April Salzano


Snow has receded
from lawn.  Birds demand answers.
Crow speaks from his throat.


Mid-polar vortex,
accumulation measured
in feet, not inches


Silence Seems

the only option, weaves
one mile into the next.
Buzz of fly.  End of life.




April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two sons.  She is currently working on a memoir on raising a child with autism and several collections of poetry.  Her work has been twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has appeared in journals such as Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Camel Saloon, Centrifugal Eye, DeadSnakes, Visceral Uterus, Salome, Poetry Quarterly, Writing Tomorrow and Rattle.  Her first chapbook, The Girl of My Dreams, is available from Dancing Girl Press.  The author serves as co-editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press (www.kindofahurricanepress.com).

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