By Luanne Castle
She remembers everything before it happened and its aftermath. She remembers the paradox of numbing and heightening of her senses. The sky half shielded by dagger-sharp clouds and the ground prickly with thistles. The sudden silence of the bluebird and the Burtons’ barking dog. Her broken-down wagon leaning against a tree. The skirt of her mother’s old bridesmaid dress she wore for play—muddy with rips stitched–billowing about as if it were disembodied from herself. She remembers the stink of motor grease and sweat. She will never forget any of these sensations, but she will never remember what happened.
Luanne Castle’s poetry and prose have appeared in Copper Nickel, River Teeth, Your Impossible Voice, JMWW, Grist, Fourteen Hills, Verse Daily, Disappointed Housewife, Lunch Ticket, Saranac Review, Pleiades, Cleaver, Anti-Heroin Chic, Bending Genres, BULL, The Mackinaw, The Ekphrastic Review, Phoebe, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Gone Lawn, Burningword, Superstition Review, One Art, Roi Fainéant, Dribble Drabble, Flash Boulevard, O:JA&L, Sheila-Na-Gig, Thimble, Antigonish Review, Longridge, Paragraph Planet, Six Sentences, Gooseberry Pie, Switch, and Ginosko. She has published four award-winning poetry collections.
MoonPark Review 