Dark Pines, poetry by Donnie Welch Able-Bodied, poetry by Kieran Collier
A construction company clear cut the woods behind my old house and sold all the pines for lumber. For the first time in centuries, shadows disappeared and light revived the color in the dull brown pine needles.
On the 5 train there is a man who gets on somewhere between Franklin Ave. and Union Square. Says his day has not been fine, the way most people riding a train from Brooklyn into Manhattan’s days have not been fine.