Fellow | Fiction/Creative Nonfiction
From Milk RiverIn the dusk of the month of the sinking grass, the girls lay in the fields where the wheat grew. They dribbled dirt on each other’s faces. The dirt was silver, amended, a chemical ash.
From Milk RiverIn the dusk of the month of the sinking grass, the girls lay in the fields where the wheat grew. They dribbled dirt on each other’s faces. The dirt was silver, amended, a chemical ash.
