The day I turned 23 a few weeks before our wedding day, I caught my first striped bass, hefted its weight, rainbow hide pressed against my thighs. Nine, ten pounds, a guess before we put it back, face first, into the dark Long Island water. Bass brought five bucks a pound that fall, and we […]
Margie Duncan
Margie Duncan lives in NJ with two tuxedo cats, the ghosts of two dogs, and her husband, Brian. When she retired from the business side of academia, she returned to writing poetry and looking out the window. She spends some waking time hiking in the woods. Her poems have appeared in Thimble, OneArt, Rust & Moth, Lily Poetry Review, Gyroscope Review, and Halfway Down the Stairs.
White Sofa in the Woods
Like a toadstool springs up overnight from a dead log, it was simply there, pure white against early greening brush and charcoal trees, crystalized perhaps from melted snow. No tracks in surrounding mud, no sign of its trek from civilization. No scratch or snag from thorns despite wild rose and briar […]