The old plum tree on the vacant lot where the family home stood two decades since bends like a dancer, two arms reaching in from the fence, black twigs tipped in purple. It bloomed outside the kitchen door that banged when the child who could not drink cow’s milk came home with a shout from… Read More “On the Bluff” by Suzanne Gill

The blossom comes after weeks of empty gray days. Its gestation was unknown to us. We did not think the soil capable of such transfiguration, or the gray dead branch clever enough to make a hole that bled such beauty of form and color and fragrance. We were impatient we broke the twig ourselves and… Read More “In Lent” by Suzanne Gill