tia cowger
Mrs. Jones distills moonshine behind
her shed, half-hidden by lidded weeping
branches—that’s what it looks like
anyway. Frogs croak into the staleness
of the humidity, a prayer in their deep
vibrations. Knobby limbs creaking in
darkness like empty bones as she
tightens lids. Heat has pressured even
the darkest shadows to sweat. She’ll
trade a jar for anything, as long as it looks
like a heart. Frogs die down, realizing
God will not answer.
Send the flood. Send the flood again.
***
Tia Cowger is a graduate of Eastern Illinois University. A poet at heart, her work has been published in Eastern’s literary journal The Vehicle, Toe Good, Gone Lawn and others.