By Lindsay Lusby

 for Me-me

The bees are nettled outside the window:
hovering sentinel
tap the glass     bumbling.

The day is moss-green and
dying in

small damp breaths.
Even the milkweed is unsettled.

A pipe bursts under the house
and the empty space slowly fills
with water


the way decay will
soon bloom here:
cloud the yard like mushrooms
and prosper.

Lindsay Lusby graduated from Washington College in Chestertown, Maryland with a B.A. in English. Now, she works at her local public library and a nifty new bakery. In her spare time, she writes poetry on her typewriter, sews thingamajigs, drinks tea, dabbles in letterpress printing and bookbinding, browses through used bookstores, and naps with her cats (and sometimes with her dog). You can find more about her at

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